De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly: Chapter 1 Joyeaux Noel
by mabb5
Summary: Beverly and Jean-Luc go to LaBarre to share Christmas Eve with his family. Christmas Day, on the other hand, is another matter as the Picards throw their first official party as a married couple, aided by Guinan, Lwaxana Troi and Mildred. So what could possibly go wrong? Afterwards they go to Paris.
1. Chapter 1: Joyeaux Noel

_**A.N.: In order not to be completely confused about how things have come to this point, it is advisable that you read the novel "Attached Meant" and its sequel "De-Tached: Story One and Story Two: Life With Beverly".**_

_**Of course, if you'd rather just go with the flow without reading my earlier efforts, that's okay too. The situation isn't that difficult to understand. **_

_**Synopsis: Jean-Luc and Beverly are happily married and living in the house that he'd inherited from his Aunt Adele in San Francisco. Picard is the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy now. Beverly is the temporary head of Starfleet Medical, though in a few months, by order of the head of Starfleet - Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley - she's about to become the admiral in charge of Starfleet's new Hospital Fleet. Oh, and Beverly is pregnant. And thanks to an aftereffect of their psychic bond from the KesPrytt incident, Jean-Luc can feel everything that Beverly feels during their pregnancy including morning sickness. Because Beverly sensed that her unborn twins were psychically 'different', she asked Deanna for help. Deanna sent Lwaxana who has now moved in - temporarily - with the Picards. Guinan shows up too, to be a temporary nanny. Both ladies are going to teach Jean-Luc and Beverly how to deal with or communicate with their twins, in utero. Also, Lwaxana is still romancing the head of Starfleet, much to Jean-Luc's dismay. Jean-Luc and Beverly are going to LaBarre to spend Christmas with Marie and Robert.**_

_**All of this is set in an alternate universe that takes place immediately after the episode "Attached". Therefore, nothing that happened after "Attached" exists in this a/u. Riker is now captain of the Enterprise. Captain Dr. Kate Pulaski is Riker's CMO. Robert and Rene are alive. Admiral Nechayev is a good guy, Etc.**_

_**All the usual disclaimers apply. STAR TREK is Paramount's property. But it is fandom's playground.**_

_**This author would greatly appreciate any reviews or comments.**_

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter One: Joyeaux Noel**_

Beverly slowly walked about the freshly painted nursery, inspecting everything. So far, she had found nothing about which to complain. The aquamarine walls with the white ceiling and trim, was cheery; fresh-looking. But, it was not too energizing. Beverly remembered what life had been like when Jack had painted Wesley's nursery walls fire engine red. The last thing that Beverly had needed was a another baby bouncing off of red walls. This time around, she hoped that her choice of blue would have a more calming influence. She wanted the nursery to be a peaceful haven - at least when the babies-to-be were placed down for their naps.

She instantly sensed Jean-Luc was standing in the doorway the moment he approached. There were certain advantages to being psychically connected to the father of her children. She was coming to truly appreciate their connection.

"Come," she softly said.

Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and gently rested his left hand on her abdomen.

He felt as well as sensed some sort of almost-silent gurgling. "They're sleeping." He sounded almost surprised by what he was feeling.

"It's _your_ son. He's the one that is snoring."

To pay her back for that comment, Jean-Luc just had to place a kiss behind his bride's earlobe. He was rather pleased as he felt her shudder in his arms.

"Jean-Luc, we have to be in LaBarre in a few hours. Don't start anything we don't have time to finish," Beverly warned.

"If you but give me the chance, _mon coeur…_," he chuckled. And then he released her, inspecting the room. "I'm pleased with the way that things have turned out, for now with the nursery. Of course, if they don't work out, we can always make changes."

"Yes. I'm glad that we went with Guinan's suggestion of keeping the nursemaid's room on this side of the nursery." Beverly suddenly smiled, pressing her own hand against her stomach. "Jean-Luc, do you realize that with our emotional connection to our babies, we're going to actually know _why_ they are crying? We'll know if they're hungry, or sleepy, or itchy, or whatever."

"We can even encourage them to sleep through the night," Jean-Luc suggested.

She elbowed him. "Eventually," she agreed. And then she lightly kissed him on his cheek. "Come, it's almost time to leave for LaBarre."

"We'd better double check the luggage," he suggested.

"Well, if I've forgotten to pack anything, we can always replicate it."

Jean-Luc raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Beverly, have I failed to mention that my brother is a Luddite? There is no replicator at the Château."

"Jean-Luc, well, we're only going to be gone for thirty-six hours."

"Beverly, I was actually thinking about that. Maybe you should stay in LaBarre and let just me come back for the open house party on Christmas day. Once it is over, then I can transport back to LaBarre so that we can spend a few more days with Marie and my brother."

Beverly abruptly sat down on the edge of the daybed in the nursery. "You'll really would do anything to avoid spending more time with Lwaxana than is absolutely necessary, won't you? Including spending more time with Robert. I'll have to remember your preferences for future reference."

=/\= ='/\'= =/\=

As their shuttlecraft approached Paris, Beverly casually asked, "You haven't told them, yet, about our twins, have you?"

Jean-Luc continued to hold his wife's hands, even as he automatically checked the pilot's approach into French air space. They'd be landing in the Château's paddock in about seven minutes. Glancing about the private shuttlecraft that Starfleet automatically provided for any admiral, he did have to admit that it was a pleasant way to travel.

"Er, no. I have yet to inform Robert or Marie about the babies. I thought that we'd do that tonight."

Beverly eyed the crates that were aft of their lounge chairs. "Don't tell me your gift to Robert is wine?"

He chuckled. "Actually, I've got a case of Risian brandy back there, a case of Klingon blood wine, half-a case of Vulcan ta'liah wine and a full case of Château Chantal eiswein from the Leelenau Peninsula by Grand Traverse Bay."

"You're bringing your brother a case of wine from Michigan? You like to live dangerously, don't you, Jean-Luc."

"He needs to broaden his horizons," Jean-Luc grumped.

Beverly chuckled. "Well, if Robert won't touch it, I can assure you that Marie will. I have noticed that she likes her sweet after-dinner wines."

Jean-Luc smiled. "I have, too."

"Maybe you should have brought some beer. Taking wine to a vintner is a bit of a cliché."

"Beverly, beer would be pushing my brother too far. Besides, he brews his own beer too. There is only so much brotherly criticism that I can stand." Suddenly he leaned forward, looking out the viewport. "We're almost at LaBarre," he announced as Beverly looked out the port as well. The mid-afternoon sun was glinting off the snow. The view below them was almost post-card picture perfect of a French country village and estate.

"It looks like there's a few feet of snow on the ground."

"Snow has been known to happen in December," Jean-Luc observed.

She swatted his arm. "I thought that you checked the weather reports."

"I did. It's cold," he explained.

"Oh, you…" She swatted his arm again. "It's a good thing that I brought my new winter coat."

Jean-Luc laughed. "I am looking forward to seeing it." He paused for a moment. "Will you be well enough to attend midnight mass?"

Beverly chuckled. "I remember one of Jack's old jokes about what time is midnight mass, since so many churches, at least where I was stationed, never actually had the Christmas mass at midnight." She picked up her gloves and put on her hat. "And I'd like to go if I feel up to it." She patted her pocket. "I've brought plenty of anti-nausea hyposprays."

Jean-Luc looked back out the view port. "Just think. A year ago I spent Christmas Eve by myself. Alone, reading Charles Dickens. And now, this year, I have you. And the babies-to-be. And I know that I have been truly blessed."

"Me, too," she whispered as she pressed a kiss against her husband's cheek.

He held Beverly close and kissed her temple as his family home came into view. At this moment, he considered himself to be a very lucky man.

=/\= ='/\'= =/\=

"_Calissons…_," he whispered, gazing upon the thirteen desserts of Christmas. A long-held Provence tradition, the desserts representing Christ and the twelve apostles, were spread about on a _table credence _after Christmas Eve dinner and left there to be enjoyed for the next three days. Reaching out, he picked up the frosted lemon candy and held it almost with reverence. "I haven't had one of these since I was a teenager."

"And whose fault is that, Jean-Luc?" Marie teased as she placed a Quimper platter with _nougat blanc _and _nougat noir _arranged on it, down upon the lace covered buffet. "You know you were always welcome, especially after I married Robert. I personally invited you every year. You were the one who always seemed to have something more important to do than to share Christmas with your family."

He had the good grace to look embarrassed as he realized that his lack of familial contact with his brother and his family was still a sore point with Marie - and most definitely with Robert.

"For that, I do apologize, Marie. At the time, doing my duty seemed important to me. Now, I wonder about the wisdom of my decisions."

"Having a home now, will do that to you," Robert's acerbic voice boomed across the dining room. "Reconsidering old decisions in the face of making the new traditions is something that you must decide."

Sensing that old arguments might be rearing their ugly heads, Beverly tried a diversionary tactic. She pointed. "What is that? I've never seen anything quite like this dessert before. At least, not on earth that is."

"It's quince cheese," Marie quickly explained. "It's tart but sweet. All it contains is quince and sugar boiled down into a loaf form."

"I love quince. My Nana's garden had a golden quince tree growing in the apple orchard. She used to make a stew of apples and quince, sweetened with brandy and wild honey…"

"That sound delicious…" Marie nodded toward her kitchen. "Come and help me make the tea, and you can tell me more. All I've ever done with quince is make this dessert." Their voices trailed off as they went into the kitchen.

"Care to join me in the salon, Jean-Luc? I'd like your opinion on my latest efforts with the chardonnay…"

As Jean-Luc followed his brother into the grand salon, all he said was, "Chardonnay _after_ dinner? You're standards are slipping, Robert."

"Never, Jean-Luc." Robert stood before a small table and carefully filled five sherry glasses with a pale amber wine. "I thought that we'd try some of the eiswein that you brought. And then you can taste the chardonnay." Robert suddenly turned and glared at the Christmas tree. "Come out, Rene. And taste this wine."

Trying not to chuckle as he watched his nephew appear from behind an armchair that had been placed close to the tree, he watched as Rene handed his father a green ornament."

"I found our pickle," Rene proudly announced. "I get to open a present!"

"Let me see that, _uncle_" Jean-Luc suddenly asked. Robert handed him the glass ornament. "_Mon Dieu, _is this our old one? I remember…"

"Believe me, I have heard those stories," a voice from the doorway called out. "Rene, since you are the only child present - _this year _- you didn't have to go searching for the pickle ornament. I was actually hoping that I could persuade your father and your uncle to hunt for it…"

Standing behind Marie, Beverly laughed. "When I was a child, we went looking for a coin in flaming bundt cake. The person who was lucky enough to find it got first dibs at a present and was granted at least one wish. Or so legend has it." A sad expression suddenly appeared and then quickly disappeared on her countenance as she remembered a Christmas with her grandmother from oh so long ago…

Jean-Luc walked over to his bride and simply embraced her.

Marie placed the silver tea service that she was carrying on a tea table.

But it was Jean-Luc who noticed the speculative gleam in Marie's eyes. He turned to his wife. "Beverly, did you…"

It took Beverly a moment to figure out what he was asking. "No. Of course not, Jean-Luc."

Picard bestowed upon Marie one of his more intimidating captainly stares. "Then why did you say…"

She came over to both of them and hugged them and kissed them on the cheek. "One doesn't have to be a starship captain or the head of Starfleet Medical to notice things and deduce a thing or two."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Robert complained.

"Aunt Beverly is getting fat," Rene loudly announced.

Everyone froze for a moment. Then with laughter, Beverly bent down and kissed Rene's forehead. "Indeed I am gaining weight, my observant little nephew."

Now Robert was thoroughly confused for when his wife gained weight it was not a laughing matter.

"We're expecting twins in the spring," Jean-Luc announced even as he kissed his wife again.

It took Robert a moment to process this information. "Babies? _Babies!"_ He pulled Beverly out of her husband's arms and lifted her up, giving her a great bear hug. Then he twirled her about so that her ruby velvet suit skirt flared. "_BABIES_!" he joyously cried.

Suddenly Jean-Luc dashed up the stairs to his old bedroom.

Still holding Beverly, Robert asked, "Was it something I said?"

"Put me down," Beverly gasped.

It was difficult to tell with the Christmas lights, candles and firelight that lit the salon, the color of Beverly's complexion. Somehow, though, Marie thought that the mother-to-be might be turning slightly green. "I think that it would be best if you placed Beverly back down," Marie observed, for she knew her husband. One of his bear hugs could last for quite a while.

Robert carefully placed Beverly down, right in front of the wing back chair by the Christmas tree. Beverly sat down, suddenly feeling rather weak.

Jean-Luc came running back with a hypospray and handed it to Beverly, kneeling by her side. She gave herself an anti-nausea shot, adjusted the hypospray and then pressed it against her husband's neck.

"Huh?" Robert asked.

"Long story," Jean-Luc muttered as he waited for the medicine to take effect. It took a few moments for Jean-Luc and Beverly to starting feeling normal again.

Beverly suddenly stood. In spite of the traditional meatless dinner that they'd just had, she felt hunger pangs. "I feel in the mood for some of that quince. And those cakes…" She strode off toward the dining room.

"I wouldn't mind some of the Kouglof," Jean-Luc called after his foraging wife.

Jean-Luc positioned himself in the wing back chair. It was big enough that he'd be able to share it with Beverly. He suddenly remembered his father seated in this chair, with his mother seated on his lap from a Christmas long ago. He looked over at Robert, who still had a very big grin on his face.

"Ah, I remember too, little brother. Those were happy times."

"Yes, they were," Jean-Luc softly agreed.

Rene suddenly stood in front of his uncle holding an ornament. "Did you make this?" He held up a miniature starship.

"Indeed I did," Jean-Luc whispered, amazed that the ornament still even existed, much less that it had been hung on Robert's Christmas tree. He took the starship from his nephew. "I made this when I was about your age, Rene. It was a project that I'd had from school. So I built the first _U.S.S. Enterprise, 1701_. I used to dream of captaining a starship like her. And one day I actually did get my Christmas wish. Maybe one day, you will get your Christmas wish too, _uncle._"

"But that wish took you away from your family," Robert acerbically pointed out.

"That was my path, Robert," Jean-Luc reminded Robert. "You were destined to be a man of the earth. I became a man of the stars."

"But we're here now, together again, and that is what counts," Robert observed.

"True," Jean-Luc agreed, as he accepted a glass of the eiswein from Robert.

"And for your information, little brother, our Mother hung your starship ornament every year in spite of Father's objections." Robert suddenly looked away to surreptitiously wipe away a tear. "After she died, Father made sure that your ship hung on the tree. And I've placed it there every year since Father died."

Jean-Luc didn't know what to say.

But Robert did. "And next year, we will hang that ornament - and the pickle, to continue that tradition with your children."

Suddenly very loud, uproarious laughter was heard coming from the direction of the dining room.

"What?" Robert asked, for he knew the sound of his wife's laughter.

"Nothing good," Jean-Luc sighed, and then drank his eiswein. He was not overly fond of sweet wines, but this one was pleasant enough. "I believe the ladies must be talking about us. Or, at least, my wife is talking about me."

"What did you do?" Robert worriedly asked. He didn't like the way the laughter sounded that was coming from the dining room. His marital instinct for self-preservation in the ageless war of wives versus husbands told him that the women held a winning hand at the moment.

"It's not what I did, that is the cause of their merriment," Jean-Luc observed. "It's what happened to Beverly and I. In fact, it was an impetus for Beverly and I. It forced us to finally reveal our feelings to each other. Which did lead to our marriage."

Robert looked down at Rene who was rummaging about under the branches of the Christmas tree. "Make up your mind, Rene. Pick one present to open. We will have to be leaving soon for midnight mass." He looked at his brother. "Then whatever it was, was a good thing."

"Not exactly," Jean-Luc whispered, before he then explained to Robert a simplified version of the KesPrytt curse.

Robert plopped down on the sofa, spilled his eiswein all over his dress shirt, and then laughed and laughed and laughed. "And you're doing this, _willingly?_" he finally gasped.

Beverly came into the room, carrying two dessert plates filled with cake and quince and fruit and nuts. "Greater love hath no husband more than my husband for me," Beverly delightedly pronounced.

Marie came in as well, promptly sat down next to her husband, and asked, "Would you have done this for me if you could have, when I was carrying Rene? _Uhmmm_, Robert?"

Suddenly recognizing a question that had to be very carefully considered before answering, Robert leaned over, picked up the decanter with the eiswein, poured himself another glass, drank it swiftly, looked surprised at what he'd just tasted, liked it, and then poured himself another glass which he drank as quickly again. Then he turned toward his wife to answer her question.

Beverly plopped a candied almond on her husband's tongue. She had decided that feeding Jean-Luc this Christmas bounty was almost as much fun as eating it herself. She nuzzled her husband's neck, as she rested most comfortably on his lap.

"Rene," he warned, for he recognized what his senses were telling him about Beverly's hormonal state at the moment. There was little that he could do since about it since they were not alone.

She silenced him with a kiss.

A very nervous sounding Robert decided to try a diversionary tactic of his own. He asked of his sister-in-law, "Where's Wesley?"

Marie simply continued to stare at her husband. She wasn't about to let him off the hook from answering her question - not just yet.

Beverly looked over at them. "Wesley should be coming to mass with us tonight. If he can't make it, he'll be here for sure for dinner tomorrow." She smiled, remembering. "Wesley has never willingly missed getting his Christmas presents."

Marie leaned over and whispered into Robert's ear, "You can answer _my_ question - later. And, you need to change your shirt."

Sighing with relief at his temporary reprieve, Robert stood and passed around the eiswein. He lifted his delicate, finely cut crystal liqueur goblet and toasted, "_Joyeaux Noel_! To our family!" Everyone, even Rene, echoed this sentiment. And then they sipped the sweet wine.

"It's good!" Rene said, with surprise at its taste. Usually most of the wines that his father let him taste were on the dry side.

"Sometimes, when the weather was freezing, we've made ice wine ourselves." But Robert could see that his son was not focused on the wine this evening. "Have you picked the present that you will open up tonight, Rene?"

The boy lifted up a big square box wrapped with holographic star patterned paper.

"Ah, that one is from us," Jean-Luc announced. Beverly put down their dessert plates on a side table anticipating Rene's reaction to this gift. For she had wrapped it, after all, and knew what was inside.

Rene quickly disposed of the wrapping paper. And then gasped in delight once he figured out what his uncle and aunt had given to him. Squealing with delight, he threw himself on top of Beverly and Jean-Luc. "_Merci! Merci! Merci!"_

Robert looked down at the box that held some sort of projector and asked, "What the devil is it?"

"It's an astral projector. At night, Rene can direct it at his ceiling. It is programmed to display thousands of official Starfleet astral maps. There are settings with the names every star or planet in many languages that include Standard, Klingon, Vulcan etc. If he wishes, Rene can also choose a holographic setting that will give him a 360 degree overview of any planetary system, star system or galaxy that he chooses," Jean-Luc explained.

"Will it show me the Kessel run?" Rene asked as he started reading the manual padd.

"There are quite a few settings. It will take you a while to go through and learn all of them," his uncle added.

The boy thought for a moment, and then yawned. "Do I have to go to mass?" the boy asked of his mother. "I'm feeling rather sleepy…"

"What do you think, Rene?" his mother countered, smiling.

"I can set up my present after mass," the boy sadly agreed.


	2. Chapter 2: Pere Noel

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter Two: Pere Noel**_

Beverly just loved the touch of him; the feel of him. Holding his hand as they walked home from midnight mass simply filled her heart with joy. And though Jean-Luc's expression as they walked with their boots crunching against the snow, looked solemn to most observers, Beverly recognized the gleam in her husband's eye. He was happy. He was also relishing this moment most thoroughly.

Midnight mass (which was actually held at midnight) had been everything that Jean-Luc remembered; and everything that Beverly had hoped it would be. For Wesley had joined them at the church. With his arrival, Beverly's Christmas wishes were fulfilled. Now, she would ask for nothing more for Christmas, than just to walk hand-in-hand with her husband on her right side, and her son striding by her left side.

Robert had arranged for a horse drawn sleigh to take all of them to church. Jean-Luc was amused that though the sleigh was drawn by two chestnut _Normandy _horses, the runners to the sleigh were lifted by anti-grav units so that they would glide smoothly on air, over every snow bump and rut. He idly wondered if his brother had been aware of that modern contrivance when he ordered the sleigh.

The large red and gold trimmed sleigh had picked them up after the services were over, but when they reached the gates to the Château, it was Beverly who suggested that they get out and walk the two kilometers home. For it was a crystal clear, cold night. The Picard family got out and walked. The moon was full, casting long moon shadows as they walked, lighting the way. The stars were a brilliant canopy above them. As they neared the house, Rene and Wesley ran ahead of the two strolling couples.

And Beverly simply couldn't resist temptation. She just had to kiss her husband in the moonlight, savoring every sensation, every feeling, every moment of their first official Christmas together. "_Joyeaux Noel_, Jean-Luc. May we have many more Christmases together," she whispered, her frosted breath spiraling upward. Then she stirred out of his arms.

"As my lover commands," he whispered in her ear. And then he chuckled. For they had both observed Robert and Marie kissing as well.

Robert heard their laughter. "Mind you, little brother, you'll soon learn to take a kiss or two whenever you get the chance. For when your children come, private moments are few and far between," he warned.

Jean-Luc didn't quite heed this warning. But Beverly knew what was soon to come.

Catching up with Robert and Marie, the couples walked together toward the house on the lane flanked by tall ancient oak trees, now bare of all but a few leaves. The beautiful moonlight filtered down through the naked branches, creating diamond ice sparkles on the snow.

They reached a part of the drive that seemed to be icy. Beverly hesitated. "Do a glissade step," Jean-Luc suggested as his arm went about her waist to guide her. Quickly catching on, the smooth, skater-like movements quickly got them across the icy ruts. Then they all proceeded on to the Château

When they entered the courtyard, Robert and Marie moved closer to the other couple. "Jean-Luc," Robert hummed.

"Yes, Robert?"

"Do you know what Tante Beverly said to Rene?"

"What did you do now, Beverly?" was Jean-Luc's teasing response.

Robert provided the answer before Beverly could explain herself. "She told Rene that she had never, ever been in a snowball fight."

"We never saw snow on Arvada. And on Caldos, though sometimes we did get a freeze, we never saw any measurable snow…," Beverly explained even as a snow ball went whizzing by her nose to knock Jean-Luc's fedora off of his head.

"_Merde!_" Jean-Luc cursed. He now knew why Wesley and Rene had run ahead of them. They'd been setting them up, and making snowballs. He bent down to pick up his fedora. This was a mistake for the next missile hit him squarely on the ass. Jean-Luc did not doubt that Wesley was the culprit. For as intelligent a young man as Rene was, Jean-Luc did not think that his nephew had the tactical knowledge to create an attack from a position of strength. For the courtyard had been shoveled clear. But the boys were pitching from behind a snow bank. There was only one thing that a Starfleet officer could do in such a situation. He charged at them, roaring.

Beverly quickly grasped what this unexpected opportunity meant. She went after Wesley's stash of snowballs in order to pummel Jean-Luc. Robert rather liked the idea of his younger brother being the main target. He ran and grabbed some snow to try and shove it down his brother's collar even as the _nephew_ captured the _uncle_ to wrestle him in a snow bank. And for the _nephew _to shove a hand full of snow under the boy's jacket. Jean-Luc didn't forget about Wesley either. For as Wesley moved closer to dump some more snow on his school superintendent, Jean-Luc performed a move that he'd learned from Mr. Worf and with his foot, swept Wesley off of his feet to land on top of his freshly made pile of snowballs.

Marie, on the other hand, did not single out Jean-Luc. She climbed into a snow bank. If the target was male, she threw a snowball at it. She had a rather good pitching arm too.

Midst squeals from Rene, and laughter all around, a rousing good snowball fight was had. Unfortunately, Jean-Luc had been the primary target. And the amount of snow on his greatcoat showed it. No one went unscathed when this family tradition ended, except for Beverly. That is, until Jean-Luc walked up to his bride, kissed her soundly, and then stuffed a snowball, albeit a small one, down the black velvet collar of his beloved's red velvet cape coat. Then, with great ease, he lifted her up in his arms, and carried her inside to deposit her in front of the fire in the grand salon. She was still squealing, threatening dire revenge even as he carried her inside. And they continued to laugh as she brushed the snow off of herself as well as her husband.

After a few cups of steaming, spiced home-made cider, they all went to bed, for none of the adults doubted that the children amongst them would be up rather early.

**=/\= '=/\=' =/\=**

The house was quiet as Jean-Luc slid out of his old bed. Beverly had been rather amused that Marie had lodged them in his boyhood room. Beverly found it fascinating to inspect the prized possessions of a young Jean-Luc Picard. She knew that the trophies and ribbons and plaques were a given. Men like Jean-Luc were driven to excel in all things. But what she found interesting were the book collections. Everything from Edgar Rice Burroughs to J.M. Barrie to Jane Austen to Jules Verne to antique superhero comics caught her eye. She'd always known that deep in his heart, her husband was a true romantic in the noblest sense of that term. And judging by his childhood reading material, it had been an innate part of him since his early years.

Jean-Luc, on the other hand was pleased that this night, Beverly had fulfilled one of his teenage year's deepest desires - to make love to a woman in his bedroom. It had been a quiet loving for Jean-Luc had not wished to tire out his bride, even though she was the instigator of their lovemaking. Still, the memory of her warmth touched his heart.

Jean-Luc found his slippers in the dark. He did not doubt that Beverly had put them by his side of the bed for remembering exactly where he put his slippers was something that Jean-Luc did not often do. Donning his new grey robe, he went in search of the noise that had disturbed his sleep in this pre-dawn hour.

Approaching Rene's room, he heard whisperings. Slightly pushing open the door, Jean-Luc observed an obviously excited Rene listening to every word that Wesley said. For Wesley had set up the astral projector and was pointing out to his new cousin, some of the places that he had once visited. And in true Starfleet tradition, Wesley was also telling tall tales about those visits too.

Deciding not to disturb them, Jean-Luc stepped away, and went down stairs, wandering silently amongst the rooms. Echoes of ancestral ghosts were raised within each of the old rooms by his footsteps. He walked past the portraits of a few ancestors, recognizing them even in the dim lighting. Eventually, he stood in front of the Christmas tree, awash with the memories from the ghosts of his own Christmas' past. There was one thing that was foremost in his thoughts. And that was how many of the Christmases of his life he had spent away from his familial home. And for the first time he truly regretted making the decisions not to come home - when it was an arbitrary decision and not something that his Starfleet duty demanded. _For what was a little arguing amongst family? _He vowed never to give his unborn children a reason not to want to come home at Christmas…

Beverly only sighed as she turned toward him when he slid back under the warm covers. With a welcoming sigh himself, he closed his eyes, snuggled closer to his love and went back to sleep.

**=/\= '=/\=' =/\=**

Even through the thick oak door of their room, the squeals of excitement penetrated the room.

Jean-Luc opened his eyes and then felt Beverly stir next to him.

"Listen," he whispered as laughter filled the corridor.

"What time is it?" Beverly grumbled. Her pregnant body did not like time zone changes. And then she paused as she heard the laughter too. "In a few years it will be our cookie hustlers that will be squealing…" She sat up. Her body did not agree with this movement.

Knowing what she was feeling, he handed her a hypospray. After she administered her shot, she handed the spray back to her husband, and then made a mad dash for the bathroom. suspecting that he would be next, Jean-Luc found his slippers again before he self-administered his own anti-nausea dose.

About twenty minutes later, Beverly dressed in a warm, royal blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a full length skirt, was ready to go downstairs. Jean-Luc had put on an Alsace hand-knitted blue sweater he'd found from long ago and some grey slacks. Beverly, even as she admired how good her husband looked in a blue sweater with a silver snowflake pattern, only grumbled about having a husband who could wear the clothes that he had worn in high school. This was something that was totally, cosmically unfair.

They joined their family for coffee and croissants. As they watched Rene and Wesley unwrap the presents that Pere Noel had brought them. And thus began a perfect Christmas day at home, for Jean-Luc.

**=/\= '=/\=' =/\=**

As Jean-Luc held Beverly's arm as she stepped into their shuttlecraft, he solicitously asked, "Are you sure you are up to going back to San Francisco for this evening's open house?"

"Jean-Luc, if you ask me that question one more time, I swear I'll schedule you for a full physical tomorrow. And believe me, by then - you'll need it."

"Beverly, you forget that I can feel your fatigue."

"And I'll nap on the shuttlecraft. And if it is necessary, there should be enough time for me to take a nap before the party begins as well."

Letting Beverly win this argument went against his sense of husbandly concern. But he'd also learned too well, over the decades, that one should really not try to thwart Beverly, even if it were for her own good. In this matter, he would let Beverly decide since he knew that her concern for their babies was equal to his own.

A moment later Wesley came dashing up the ramp. He put several tote bags in the back of the shuttlecraft. And then he whistled. Loudly.

"It looks like Uncle Robert gave you nothing but wine as your Christmas present," as he looked at the stacks of wine crates in the back of the shuttlecraft. Walking over to his seat, he asked, "Please tell me some of that wine is going for the party tonight."

"Cadet, whatever wine that will be available for the party will be strictly for the officers." Then Jean-Luc smiled. "If you wish, you may pilot the shuttlecraft for a while."

Wesley quickly went forward.

A few moments later, Jean-Luc noticed that Beverly had fallen asleep. So he decided to get caught up on certain business matters. Checking his padd, the messages from Mildred indicated that all was set for the open house this evening. Jean-Luc was anticipating a somewhat dignified get-together.

He really should have known better.


	3. Chapter 3: La Fete de Noel

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 3: La fête de Noël est terminée.**_

"I must say, Jean-Luc, you _really_ do know how to throw a party."

Jean-Luc refused to dignify this statement with a response.

Determined to keep on annoying his favorite mortal, Q waved his hand, and a lowball glass filled to the brim with Aldebaran whiskey floated in front of Admiral Jean-Luc Picard's nose. Much to Q's surprise, Jean-Luc actually grasped the floating glass, and drank almost half of the green liquid before the sorely put-upon mortal finally deigned to turn his head to the right, just a little bit, to glare at the being sitting next to him on the Louis XIV style padded sofa.

"What are you doing here, Q? I don't recall inviting you."

"Oh, how could you not invite me, Jean-Luc? I'm sure that my invitation just got lost in the interstellar mail somewhere…"

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard continued to stoically glare at the being to the right of him, wearing a white Napoleonic uniform with gold epaulets. Not to mention a glittering array of pseudo-medals and awards pinned to Q's chest. Q's matching hat had disappeared some time during the evening.

Deciding to change the subject, Q too-casually asked, "Do you think that your blooming bride will ever forgive you?"

"I do not care to discuss my bride - _blooming or otherwise _- with you!" Contrary to the strength of his voice, Jean-Luc slouched against the oval back of the copper silk upholstered sofa. For he was a weary man - _a very weary man._

Q glanced about the main ballroom that had once been part of an ostentatious embassy (hence the French furniture) that was now part of Jean-Luc's home. The aftermath of the party was everywhere. "Well, there's no reason why we have to look at this mess…" He snapped his fingers. Instantly, the room was put to rights. The broken glass and plate ware became whole again and suddenly appeared in gleaming stacks on the long buffet tables. Sheffield silver candelabra that had been tumbled were standing upright again, with new, freshly lit candles glowing. The food that had been flung about the room - for it had been a most notable food fight - was now as it originally had been when the party first started. For Ludvig had outdone himself this Christmas day, and had prepared a buffet feast that rivaled anything that any other embassy - or Winston Holt Wiley's chef - could have created. Exotic dishes from over twenty different worlds as well as the more traditional Christmas choices now were on display on the long, lace trimmed tablecloths. All was as it had been less than seven hours ago. Even the punch bowls and the bar stations were as they had once been.

Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed, staring at the silver or crystal punchbowls. "Was it you, Q? Were you the one responsible? Did you spike the punch?"

"Jean-Luc, you wound me. Of course I didn't spike the punch with alcohol! I didn't have to. Everybody in the galaxy knows _not _to drink the punch at a party where there are Starfleet cadets - unless they _really _want to get drunk. For the punch is always spiked at those parties…" He smiled as if remembering certain incidents, then added, "I should know..."

"Q!" he snapped. "What the bloody hell are you even doing here? I thought that the Continuum had banned you from meddling in Sector One!"

"I can still visit! And I didn't meddle!" Q protested. "I didn't have to!"

"For a change, he's telling the truth," a voice from the doorway announced. Both men turned to look at Guinan as she walked over to them. Guinan was a sight to behold. For she was wearing an outfit that had at one point during the evening, been pure white. In fact, Guinan had looked positively angelic. Which apparently had been the point of her costume, for her chapeau had been huge and the flaps had draped down her back like seraphim wings. It had even been trimmed with white feathers. There had been gold sparkly things at the crest to the hat that could be mistaken for a halo. And when Guinan had walked, the wings had trembled and floated as if they were really wings.

Jean-Luc idly thought that he had never seen Guinan in all-white before. He didn't suscribe to the 'angel' part for a second.

Guinan held up a bottle of green stuff and looked her friend over. She contemplated his all-white and gold admiral's dress uniform. And then she idly wondered if the brown stuff staining the front of his jacket was gravy, tea or beer. "Care for some more, Jean-Luc?" She decided that the dark staining on his torn sleeve was decidedly wine.

"Why not?" the admiral grumbled as he held out his glass, ignoring the damage to his uniform.

"Me, too!" Q added as an empty glass materialized in his hand. Guinan obligingly filled it. And then she sat down to the left of Jean-Luc on the sofa.

"Are you telling me that Q was not responsible for all of this?" Jean-Luc slightly gestured about the ball room, and toward the mess that could still be seen beyond the French doors that opened out onto the terrace and gardens.

Guinan produced her own glass, filled it, and then drank for a moment before she answered her friend. "Nope. It wasn't Q's fault. _This time._" More softly, she muttered, _"I think…"_ She leaned forward so that she could send her death glare in Q's direction. "But he could have helped stopped it, if he had chosen to do so."

"How was I to know that you weren't performing some obscure ritualistic Christmas traditions?" Q protested.

Jean-Luc's response was only to glare at Q, indignantly.

Guinan rested against the padded back of the sofa. "He does have a point." She chuckled.

"What?" Picard grumbled.

"You know Jean-Luc, you may have finally accomplished that which countless missionaries and protestants have been trying to do since the first, first encounters." Guinan knew Jean-Luc wasn't following her line of thought. "I actually heard both the Klingon and the Andorian diplomatic delegations say that this was the best party that they'd even been to on Earth." She chuckled again. "The Klingons left saying that they'd like to continue on with this Earth tradition. That it was indeed a tradition worthy of a Klingon. And saying something about it being their turn to host the Academy Christmas open house next year… provided of course, that you don't expel all the Klingon Starfleet cadets out of the Academy _this _year…" She took a sip of her whiskey and then giggled. "Klingons throwing a Christmas party. I'm sure that it's on some priest's what-I-want-for-Christmas wish list, somewhere."

"They're welcome to it," Jean-Luc mumbled as he finished off his glass of whiskey. He'd not had that much to drink during the party. Now, he was determined to make up for it afterwards. Guinan obligingly filled his empty glass. He closed his eyes remembering all that had happened.

"Cheer up, Jean-Luc," Guinan stated. "It could have been worse."

"_Really?" _Jean-Luc's sense of sarcasm had been clearly unleashed. And just as clearly the whiskey was helping this attitude along. He over-ennuciated each syllable. "Madam Guinan, just how could it have _really_ been worse? My house was trashed. I will probably have to discipline hundreds of cadets on the morrow. I am sure that Boothby will be angry once he sees what the revellers have done to his gardens. And then there are all of the dignitaries, ambassadors, professors, admirals, officers, their families, Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley, Lwaxana Troi, Mildred, whatever - _and my wife_ - to whom I will have to proffer my humblest apologies..."

Q interrupted him. "Don't do _humble,_ Jean-Luc. You don't do _humble _too convincingly," Q advised.

Jean-Luc uttered an Orion curse word that Q did not even think that Jean-Luc knew much less knew the meaning of. Jean-Luc continued. "To all of these people, I will have to make amends. So Madame Guinan and Q, just tell me how it could have _really been worse?"_

"_Real-ly_, Jean-Luc," Q mimicked. He pointed. "At least the outdoor Christmas tree is still standing."

"Barely," Guinan just had to add.

"You know where you went wrong," Q suggested.

_"No, where did I go wrong?" _

Q wasn't used to hearing such venomous sarcasm from Jean-Luc's lips. He was actually surprised by what his _mon ami_ was feeling.

"You should have never thrown an _open house..._," Guinan sagaciously answered.

Jean-Luc merely groaned, mentally acknowledging this bit of wisdom too late. He then shut his eyes, willing the night's events to just simply go away.

They didn't.


	4. Chapter 4: Bûche de Noël

_**A.N.: The party starts. Intrigues abound. And then there is the punch...**_

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 4: Bûche de Noël**_

_**At the Beginning…**_

Beverly took his breath away. Literally. Not that she didn't accomplish this remarkable fact almost every time he gazed upon his wife. But tonight, the oxygen left their bedroom when he set his eyes upon her. For a moment, he simply could not say anything. He was incapable of doing so.

_She knew what she was doing to him too_...

And not for the first time, he cursed the KesPrytt in his mind. There was still a part of his mindset that did not like being so very, very vulnerable. _Even to Beverly…_

"We have a party to host," he warily advised as he watched her approach him. _Slowly_. He recognized that glint in her eye. And normally he rejoiced every time he saw it in her sapphire blues. "We have a party to host," he repeated in a firmer voice.

"I know, my darling," she whispered, as she stood directly in front of him, and then did her best to remind him as to the reasons behind why she had married him. She loved him.

When she finally released him from their kiss, she was the one who had to whisper, "We have a party to host… Damn it."

He gathered enough of his composure to speak with only a slight trace of a croak to his voice. "You are so beautiful, _mon coeur."_

"Better enjoy it while you can," she advised as she slowly turned about for his inspection. "In a few months I'll be so big…"

He had to laugh at her complaint. "Oh, Beverly, you will always be beautiful to me, regardless of your condition. And considering how your pregnancy hormones have incited your libido, well as a man and as a husband and father-to-be, I am very appreciative. I will always consider you to be very desirable regardless of the size of your waistline…" He just had to glance down at her waist. And then he recognized the genius behind the design of her evening dress.

Beverly was wearing a winter white velvet long gown with a boat neck collar that bared her lovely shoulders. It had three-quarter length sleeves. The dress had no ornamentation other than Beverly herself. The evening gown had a dropped waist and a flaring long skirt, successfully disguising the slight swelling one would only notice if you looked at Beverly in a certain way.

"Do you like Marie's present?" Beverly sweetly asked. "I love this dress," she added as she ran her hand across the silk velvet of her skirt.

"Marie obviously knows where to shop in Paris. When we go back to LaBarre tomorrow night, would you care to go shopping in Paris the next day? Or the day after, depending upon how you're feeling?"

"What do you think? Of course, darling."

Jean-Luc then displayed a bit of wisdom concerning women and their true nature when it came to shopping that he had acquired over the decades. For he had noticed how much Beverly loved to visit the bazaars and shopping centers, on the space stations and planets that they'd visited over the years. And after all, Will Riker had warned him about her shopping habits, too.

"In the evening, Robert and I could join you for dinner, after you have finished shopping." Beverly sent him a look that told him his statement was somewhat foolish. _Beverly was the type to never quite finish shopping_… He continued. "I could get a hotel suite. _Hotel Pont Royal_, perhaps, near the Louvre. They have balconies that overlook the city." He stepped closer to her. "You could perhaps take a nap after lunch." For he knew her physiological schedule quite well by now.

"Sounds lovely," she agreed. "Perhaps you should book a second suite for Robert and Marie as well."

He recognized the wisdom of that suggestion. And since their respective pay scales had increased considerably once they'd joined the admiralty, he did not mind the cost at all.

This time, it was Jean-Luc that broke their kiss. "We have a party to host," he ruefully repeated. He raised her left hand to his lips and kissed her wedding band yet again. Then he got around to noticing that she was also wearing his Christmas present.

She noticed his noticing as well. "I think that the bracelet is an appropriate accompaniment to this gown. It's almost as if Marie knew exactly what your present was going to be…"

"Marie was with me the day I went to Cartier," he admitted.

"And here, I thought that this antique _d'Orchidées _bracelet was solely your romantic choice." She raised her wrist to once again admire the finely crafted links of diamond orchids.

"The choice was mine. Marie was just there to negotiate. As the _Comtesse d'Holl_, she's a bit of an expert in dealing with jewelry store clerks. I must admit that I've rarely had that kind of experience."

Beverly only raised an eyebrow at this statement. She clearly was going to have to encourage her husband to do more shopping in jewelry stores. Not that she really desired more jewelry. She rarely wore it. But still, one should never discourage a husband either, especially if he were so inclined. Apparently the Picards had a long standing family tradition of buying jewelry for their wives. Touched by the fact that there were still some things that intimidated Jean-Luc, she kissed her husband lightly before she stepped away from him. "Now, let's go see what Mildred has contrived."

Arm in arm they walked down the grand stairway to cross over to the formal reception portion of the building.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"Where are the '_Ads_'?" a surprisingly nervous Mildred asked of her aide, Lieutenant Commander S'Rock. She smoothed the palms of her hands against the dove grey silk of her hostess gown as she walked down the hall to the ballroom accompanied by her Vulcan.

"On their way to the grand ball room as we speak." The tall, elegant Vulcan was rather surprised by Mrs. Krebb's nervousness. For the lady in the past, had acted as Fleet Admiral Wiley's hostess for many a diplomatic function that had even included all of the members of the Federation Council. And she had not displayed a whit of trepidation then. Apparently, she was concerned about the admiral's reception. S'Rock respectfully added, "Mr. Worf has sent a contingent of Klingons as 'guests' to act as security. Some of the Klingons are actually cadets."

"I already recognize every one of the Klingon cadets. Not to mention knowing all of their names and GPAs." And, then she smirked, "I've also met Mr. Worf's additional _friends_, too." Smiling, Mildred entered the largest reception area to double check the buffets and then the drink set ups.

"We will only set out the punch for the cadets when they actually start to arrive. I will have 'escorts' for every punch bowl. They will not be spiked," S'Rock announced.

"I wouldn't care to take a bet on it," Mildred mumbled. "If I know anything about Starfleet cadets, it is that they will spike a punch. Those cadets _love_ their punch spiked… It's a tradition - a point of honor as it were." She straightened her spine as she walked over and opened one set of French doors. "The best that we can do is to keep ahead of the alcohol spiking." She stepped onto the terrace and looked about and then down at the main garden below. Mildred had arranged for a specific weather 'bubble' to protect the outdoor areas that they were using. It might be Christmas night in San Francisco, but under that protective bubble, it was a nice and dry 24 degrees Celsius.

The outdoor living Christmas tree rose over two stories. And it was decorated with many lights of silver and gold glittering stars. Hanging from the branches were models of many famous Federation starships. A certain crystalline sculpture of the _U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D _which had been a present from the senior bridge officers to the Picards, was floating at the top of the tree. A tree with similar decorations was in the grand ballroom. Gilt or red poinsettia planters from their own greenhouses, were everywhere. There wasn't a corner that was left unadorned. The public rooms and gardens were decidedly festive tonight. She thought that the admirals would approve.

Piled under the ballroom Christmas tree were stacks of silver and gold wrapped presents. One for each cadet that had been expected to be staying on campus during the winter break who would probably be attending. They would be given a choice of a pound of blue kona coffee or Earl Grey or Lady Grey tea.

Mildred then went and checked an adjacent salon. This was the room where she expected the Starfleet officers, academy teachers, and diplomats to gather. This bar set up included a champagne punch, and a wide assortment of liquors, liqueurs and wine bottles bearing the Picard label. It also opened up onto the terrace where multiple tables were set up for diners. The main patio area was where the band was setting up, too.

It was then that she heard the admirals arrive.

"Perfect," Beverly announced as she inspected the room. Then she walked up to the buffet tables and swiped a Vulcan spring role. "Uhmmm…." was the next response heard from her as she looked about for something upon which she could wipe her greasy fingers. Ludvig came rushing up and proffered a towel.

"Time to go, Jean-Luc," Mildred announced.

"Go? What do we need to go to?" Jean-Luc asked with just a touch of trepidation. He disliked Mildred's little 'surprises'.

"The reception line," Mildred answered with just a touch of bedevilment.

He didn't groan out loud. But his wife knew his opinion of hosting a reception line. "Why do we need one? Isn't every guest vetted at the gate?"

For he was well aware of all the intensive security arrangements including the fact that the weather bubbles were secured enclosures as well. And the standard high security grand ball protocols were in place too. Other than for specified individuals, the guests were in a blackout. They could not transport or use their communicators as long as they were in the secured areas.

"There are enough admirals, politicians and diplomats attending that you both should greet them - at least at the start of the party."

"_I_ didn't invite them," Jean-Luc mumbled to himself even as he paid attention to Mildred.

Mildred heard him anyway. "Blame Lwaxana and Guinan," she explained. Mildred waved about her padd. "I've got a schedule of events. You'll spend half-an-hour at the reception line. Then you come in here to start the buffet line. Then in about an hour we'll have the 'amateur' hour. After that will be dancing and dining until 0100."

"Amateur hour?" Beverly asked, for she hadn't heard about this plan before.

"Wesley suggested it. Some of the cadets coming have formed singing groups or choirs. Some wish to perform magic tricks. I've been told to inform you that Cadet Olezewski will be performing on the piano. Etc. etc. etc." Mildred answered.

Jean-Luc didn't need to hazard a guess as to the identity of the individual who had sought to remind him about Bronislawa. He nodded over at Ludvig, committing himself to listening to whatever Christmas carol with which the lady would assault his Art Case Steinway.

Beverly wandered over to the dessert table and speculatively eyed a massive log made out of chocolate. She could only imagine what was underneath the fudge icing. She hoped that it was butter cream filling. It was whimsically decorated with a multitude of cinnamon dusted meringue mushrooms, and realistic miniatures of reindeer and frolicking bunny rabbits cleverly staged on the more than one meter long log cake. The Christmas dessert was better known as a _Bûche de Noël, _a French Christmas tradition. Ludvig had created a visual masterpiece. And, knowing Ludvig, it probably even tasted better than it looked. She was glad that Deanna wasn't around. Otherwise, they would have had to have posted armed guards to protect the cake from the Betazed.

Beverly knew what she would eat as soon as she got the chance. And judging by the way Jean-Luc was looking at the cake - _or was it her? - _he was going to indulge as well.

A moment later, Beverly found herself being bear-hugged by her son. After kissing his cheek, she stepped back to examine him in his navy blue dress cadet's uniform.

"I thought the cadets were advised to come in regs or civvies," Beverly observed.

"Lieutenant Commander S'Rock suggested the dress uniform, Mom. He felt that since I was a step-son of the host and the son of the hostess, that in a way, I was part of the formalities."

Mildred interjected, "When it comes to protocols, even Winnie obeys S'Rock. Join your mother at the receiving line," she ordered. Not one to question Mildred's orders, Wesley nodded his acceptance.

"Make it so," Jean-Luc agreed as he offered Beverly his left arm. Wesley took the right, and together, they strode toward the grand front door to await their guests.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley cursed. And then cursed again. He was particularly fond of Klingon curses. They were so earthy. And succinct. As to why he was cursing, the explanation was the answer that was the answer to almost everything that was annoying in his life - Lwaxana.

Winston stared at his best and fanciest dress uniform jacket. It was a bright Beefeater red with shiny gold epaulets festooned with elaborately braided gold swagging and tassels. The only problem with it was that somehow, one of the tassel ropes had snagged one of Lwaxana's fancy perfume bottles as he bent over to study himself in her dresser mirror in the suite that the lady occupied in the Picard household. Perfume poured. All over his fancy dress jacket. And though he'd liked this rose based perfume when Lwaxana wore it, he did not care to smell like a refugee from a brothel when he wore it. Thinking that it would be an easy matter to beam back over to his residence, he quickly discovered that the entire Picard compound was in diplomatic lockdown. And since Mildred didn't know that he'd spent the afternoon napping with Lwaxana, his comm badge frequency was not on the approved user's list.

Normally this would be a simple matter to resolve. The only problem was that Winston would have to leave Lwaxana's suite in order to do so. And he wasn't about to go anywhere smelling like a habitué of a cat house.

So he shucked his overly-perfumed dress uniform and went to see what he could replicate. After a quick sonic shower to remove any lingering trace of roses, Winston discovered that his choice of a uniform was limited. Jean-Luc had only programmed into the decidedly antiquated replicator, the simpler styles that the former starship captain had preferred. So Winston opted for a black cut-away dress jacket, trousers and white formal evening shirt. Since he could not wear the fancy outfit that he normally preferred, he chose to dress simply. He laughingly thought that some people might not recognize him without his fancy finery. He'd soon discover that he was right.

His first encounter with people who did not recognize his importance was when he entered the third story hall of the family quarters. He encountered two blond female cadets, and a somewhat nervous male cadet.

One of the blonds spied him. "You, there!" she called out.

It was not a tone of voice to which the head of Starfleet was accustomed to hearing.

"Yes?" he warily asked, stepping over to them.

"Open this door."

Winston eyed the burled walnut inlaid door. It was to Wesley's bedroom suite. "No," he simply said. Whether these cadets were planning on playing a practical joke on Wesley, or if they just simply wanted a bedroom to themselves, Winston was not about to oblige them.

"I order you to do so!" the male cadet protested.

"Elkanah," the shyer blond of the two, whispered. "Let's go." She tugged at Cadet Kent's sleeve. The tall, skinny teenager shook his head.

Winston saw that this cadet's black locks were longer than regulation for Terran humanoid cadets. He made a note of it.

"I am Wesley's teammate," Elkanah announced.

"_Git goin'_," Winston ordered in his sternest, cadet-crushing voice. "This is the family floor. Get off of it."

None of the cadets quivered like cadets usually did when he used his officious voice.

"I will report you to your boss!" the pushy blond swore as the other woman pulled her away.

"I'd like to see you try," Winston chuckled to himself. He watched them leave. And then made a note to himself to warn Wesley about them. Clearly they were up to something. And just as clearly, they had not realized the extent of the security there was to the house - even in a dark corridor on the family side. Everything was recorded. He'd find out who these three were. All he'd have to do was ask his former aide, Lieutenant Commander S'Rock.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"_Brilliant!"_ Jean-Luc Picard cried as he led the enthusiastic clapping for Cadet Bronislawa Olezewski. For instead of Christmas carols, she'd performed Frederic Chopin's Polonaise in A flat major, better known as the 'Heroic' polonaise. Jean-Luc was impressed by the cadet's artistry. If she hadn't wanted to have been a Starfleet engineer, she could have easily become a celebrated concert pianist. After calls for an encore, the cadet chose Chopin again. This time she played the Scherzo in b minor, which was a composition and variation based on the ancient Polish Christmas carol, '_Lulajze_, _Jezuniu' (Little Jesus)._

After she was finished and the clapping died down, Jean-Luc walked up to the cadet. "Miss Olezewski…" He bowed and formally kissed her hand. Then he released it with a flourish.

She was somewhat overwhelmed by this attention. She stood, straightening out her simple dark green dress with a narrow emerald rhinestone belt. She lovingly caressed the rosewood curve of the concert grand even as she nervously spoke. "Thank you for letting me perform, Admiral. Your piano is a magnificent instrument."

"It's been in the family for quite a few years. And you are welcome to come and play it whenever you wish. You are a superb pianist. And if it were not to the detriment of Starfleet, I would encourage you to become a concert pianist. Your interpretation of Chopin ranks amongst the best that I've ever heard. And I have quite a collection of performances to which I can compare your interpretations. You certainly played the Heroic with great verve."

"Thank you. You honor me, Admiral. Chopin's my favorite composer for the piano." She tried not to giggle over all this unexpected praise. "I just play because it's what I love to do when I'm not studying. I never wanted to get involved in formal competitions. That would have made my music _work_, and that is something that I've never desired for my music to become."

"I do understand. Though I do not come close to your level of musical ability, I am an amateur flautist. And I do not view my music as _work_ either." He heard a step behind his back. Jean-Luc turned to give his wife a welcoming smile as she joined them.

"Bronislawa, would you be willing to perform for us in the future? I hope to have small parties where your music will become the highlight of the event," Beverly suggested as she hugged her husband.

"I don't know what to say…"

Beverly understood. "When you're not busy with classes or homework, that is."

"I'll think about it." For coming to the Picard household would give her an excuse to visit her new friend, Ludvig…

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"_**Mambo!"**_

That one word got Mildred's attention. She'd just replaced her fourth bowl of spiked punch, when someone had shouted it out from the dance floor on the patio. Not quite believing whose voice it was that was doing the yelling, Mildred turned to look at the dancers. No doubt about it. It was the Superintendent of the Academy who had shouted it out as he danced with his wife to _Mambo Italiano. _Marveling at Beverly's ability to get her husband to do just about anything, Mildred watched them dance._ She just knew who to send this video to when the evening was over..._

"Clearly, Admiral Beverly actually was giving her husband dance lessons every now and then," Ensign Cherry Ames-S'Rock observed as she joined her boss. "I didn't know that the Admiral could wiggle his hips so." Then she realized what she'd just said and to whom, and she blushed. Her husband joined them, handing Mildred and his wife cups of punch. He noted his wife's blushing and deduced that it was not his fault for a change. Both ladies took a sip of the fruit punch. "It's spiked!" Mildred opined, not exactly shocked by this discovery. Cherry only drank the contents of her glass cup.

Lieutenant Commander S'Rock explained. "I personally carried the punch bowl to the table after getting it from the replicator. No one came near me." He lifted his own punch cup and drank it. "There is only one conclusion."

"_When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" _Mildred suggested.

"I did not know that you could quote Surak," S'Rock stated with as much surprise that he could muster, for a Vulcan.

"That's from Sherlock Holmes, silly," Cherry corrected him, patting his chest.

S'Rock whispered into his wife's ear. "I know that, my beloved. I was merely making a jest."

Now, Mildred knew that she had accomplished just about everything. Hearing a Vulcan making a joke had been on her list of things to experience before she died. Now she could cross it off.

"I'll find out who hacked into the replicators," Mildred stated, with determination, after deciding that S'Rock must have had more than one cup of polluted punch considering the way he was still whispering into his wife's ear.

"I will see that they will be suitably punished," S'Rock added as he straightened up, and removed an imaginary piece of lint from his wife evening gown. His fingers lingered for a moment on his wife's breast. Cherry was wearing dove grey silk as well. But with her vibrant copper hair in long curls dancing about her bare shoulders, wearing a dress that was a bit on the daring side and not exactly the kind of formal wear that the wife of a Vulcan would normally choose, Cherry was not exactly the image of a proper Vulcan spouse. And much to Mildred's private amusement, it was obvious that her Vulcan husband approved of her like this. _There was hope for Vulcans after all..._

"No, I'll let Admiral Jean-Luc Picard determine the proper punishment for these smart-ass cadets," Mildred continued. "We wouldn't want them summarily expelled, especially since they are probably our best and brightest. I don't think that anyone has ever gotten real alcohol out of a replicator before." She raised her hand to silence S'Rock. "And yes, I know all about the experiments that Commander Data and Lieutenant Commander LaForge performed. But that was in a sanctioned, controlled setting on board the _Enterprise_. And after they did it, Commander Data upgraded the security of all of Starfleet's replicator systems." She shrugged. "But here? Do you know how many additional security barriers and protocol settings they had to go through in order to hack into the main replicating system? The Federation Council doesn't have as many safeguards." She waved her hand again. "And no, I am not going to tell you how I know that." She smiled at Cherry. "A lady has to keep some of her secrets."

Mildred turned her attention to the dance floor. She did have to admire the way the admirals synchronized their hip thrusts and their hip wiggles. If Jean-Luc wasn't careful, he'd find himself competing in a dance competition or two, if she knew Beverly as well as she thought she did.

"_**Damn**._ If I'd known that Jean-Luc could swivel his hips like that, I would have never let Beverly have him," the Ambassadress from Betazed loudly announced as she joined this little group.

"In your dreams…" Mildred eyed the Betazed. _It was time to switch over to the vin ordinaire in champagne. _She judged that the Ambassadress was about five imbibed champagne bottles away from being drunk. Mildred had learned to respect the lady's legendary ability to drink. And then she thought of something, and looked about. "Where's Mr. Homm?"

"Doing Ludvig's bidding," Lwaxana answered even as she watched with lust in her eye. There were a few young men gyrating about the parquetry dance floor that had caught her attention, besides Jean-Luc.

"Does Mr. Homm know anything about programming replicators?" Mildred innocently asked.


	5. Chapter 5: Danse de Noël

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 5: Danse de Noël**_

_**The calm before the storm…**_

"Jean-Luc, I'd like some more champagne punch," announced the slightly breathy lady standing next to her husband on the terrace. The mambo that she'd just danced with her husband had left her thirsty. She studied her husband, sensing what a specific gleam in his eye meant. "Don't give me that look. I'm not talking about drinking a bottle. I just want a few sips of the good stuff before the invading horde of admirals empty our cellars." She glanced back into the ballroom. "Where did they all come from, anyway? I'm beginning to think that the dignitaries outnumber the cadets."

"Mildred has rather pithily informed me that I should not have used the phrase 'open house' on the invitations. I will concede that I may have made an error in using that phraseology. And I am sure that I will be reminded of my mistake for years to come."

"You had better believe it, Jean-Luc. I hear tell that some admirals have _lonnnnggg_ memories…" She wickedly grinned. "…especially if that admiral is your wife." She mightily sighed. "Well, at least our first real party as husband and wife is a smashing success. And since this is an informal party, all of our guests will hopefully leave here with the novel experience that one can actually have an enjoyable time at a Starfleet party."

"Let us hope not."

"What?"

"Can you imagine how many admirals will try to coerce us into hosting one of their department functions if we host too-good of a party?" Jean-Luc shuddered at the mere idea of it. And then he noticed how some strands of red gold silk were breaking away from Beverly's French twist of a hairdo. The sudden thought that Beverly had never looked more beautiful - or desirable - occurred to Jean-Luc. She licked her lips. The red softness of them drew his attention. And he smiled as he sensed that Beverly was feeling amorous too.

Jean-Luc pulled Beverly into an embrace, heedless of those about them. He was determined to kiss his wife, and he didn't care who observed it. And though thrilled by his action, Beverly's response was a bit puzzled before she succumbed to his kisses. She knew Jean-Luc was in a rather playful mood. He'd been that way most of the day. But now, there were additional elements to what she was sensing from him. Jean-Luc wasn't just enjoying himself. He was actually having a very good time. And that was what was truly surprising her. Not even at their wedding had Jean-Luc felt quite like this- this unreserved. She'd never known him to really _like_ being at a party before. _She supposed there was a first for everything…_

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Guinan merely looked at Q. She didn't even notice that he was wearing his usual Emperor of France uniform.

And Q broke. He started babbling. "I swear, Guinan, I didn't do it!"

"Do _what?"_

"I am here by invitation. I swear it."

"Q, this is an open house. That means _everyone_ here is here by invitation - including you."

"Then why are you accusing me of…"

"Q. You're looking guilty. "Ergo, you've done something." Guinan walked from the shadows into a more open area by the upper terrace's balustrade. She slowly looked over the few occupants of this terrace overlooking the main garden's party area. Finally her gaze landed on two Starfleet admirals passionately kissing in an archway to the side of the wide marble staircase descending to the garden. Her gaze froze. It was one thing for Jean-Luc Picard to romantically kiss his wife in public. He was, after all, trying to change his image from being that of the captain with ice flowing in his veins to a humane and human admiral fit to guide impressionable cadets into becoming fine officers. Guinan watched as Jean-Luc crushed Beverly in his arms before elevating her up and taking her into the shadows behind some ornamental trees on the terrace. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, Jean-Luc was now lifting his wife's skirts. It had been a long time since she had seen Jean-Luc lose this kind of control. Turning, she glared at Q. "Tell me what you did, Q. _Now!__"_

"I swear to you, _I didn't do a thing_!"

Guinan knew what it meant when she heard that weaselly tone of voice from Q. With an ever-so-mild sounding tone of voice, she placidly asked, "Have it your way, Q. What _didn't_ you do?"

"What makes you think…"

She abruptly cut him off. "Uncle Terkim." She didn't have to even give voice to her threat.

Q gulped. "What about Terkim?" He tried not to panic at the mention of this El Aurian name. It was the name of one of his major nemeses.

"Q. Terkim still has a warrant out for you, doesn't he?"

"I doubt it. That incident…"

"_Incidents…"_

"Those _alleged_ incidents were so very long ago… He's probably forgotten all about me by now."

"You know how the Continuum views the passage of time. Here today. Here yesterday. Here a millennium from now." She gave him her evilest evil eye. "And if I know my uncle Terkim - _and I do _- you've got a better chance of getting Terkim to confess to his actual age than you do of getting him to actually forget all about you and your _little _transgressions."

Q thought for a millisecond and raised his hands in surrender. "All right. All right. Maybe I noticed those Orion slave girls…"

"They're actually Orion Starfleet cadets," Guinan interrupted.

"They're not dressed like cadets." Q airily waved his hand. "Whatever. Anyway, maybe I noticed that they wished to honor the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy's holiday party by giving Jean-Luc a taste of their own Orion traditions. And to show the Superintendent what Orions actually do when they celebrate their own holiday parties."

Guinan gasped. "You don't mean…"

"Maybe they did. Maybe just a little… in the punch bowl…"

Guinan turned her gaze back toward her friends kissing in the shadows. Their embrace was getting even more passionate from what she could observe.

"Are you telling me that _all_ of the guests and the cadets have been exposed to _Orion aphrodisiacs in the punch_?"

"I was doing my good deed for the day, Guinan!"

"What?" she barked, disguising her disbelief behind a snarl.

"I told them to only put it in the admirals' punch. Not the cadets' punch bowls." Q quivered, though he tried not to show it.

Guinan froze for a moment as she processed this bit of news.

"I didn't want the cadets to get into trouble," Q explained. "I'm not supposed to be interfering here, after all. And I wasn't!"

Guinan abruptly whirled, and strode across the lengthy terrace. Her white angelic dress flapped about her as she hurried toward Jean-Luc and Beverly. She could only imagine the different types of Orion aphrodisiacs that could have been added to the champagne punch. _Some of them could take hours to work…_

When she reached her friends she knew that there was no point to ask if they'd drunk the punch. If one Admiral Picard was under the influence, then that meant that both Admiral Picards were feeling frisky. And judging by the way one of Beverly's legs was entwining about her husband's hips, both were under the influence. _Considerably._

"Beverly!" she whispered with surprising harshness.

Guinan's voice pierced the sensual fog which had enveloped Beverly in Jean-Luc's embrace. For she had suddenly found herself in her husband's arms, kissing him like she usually did when it was a prelude to their making love. The only problem was, Guinan was here. She shook her head. Her eyes widened. It took her a moment, but she suddenly realized just exactly where she was. And what she was doing. And where her husband's hands still were.

With an unsteady movement, she jerked away from him. She found herself standing on her own two feet again.

"Jean-Luc!" she angrily whispered.

That had no effect on this admiral's continued nuzzling of her bared shoulders.

"Jean-Luc!" Beverly said, more loudly for her husband wouldn't release her.

"Baldy!" Guinan firmly stated. She punctuated her name calling with a light rap on the nape of his neck.

This caused the admiral to finally lift his head from its soft resting place. "What?" And then reality suddenly came rushing back. "_Merde.._."

"Q's here."

That statement from Guinan was enough to sober any man or woman up. And it worked.

Jean-Luc's forehead dropped down onto Beverly's velvety shoulder just for a minute. Then he raised his head, in control of himself once again. _Marginally. "Mon Dieu…" _His imperturbable armor was almost in place. "What has Q done now?"

"It's what he _didn't_ do that is the problem," Guinan stated with all the gravity of a Bajoran oracle.

Jean-Luc didn't really care to know. His hands just itched to wrap themselves around Q's neck.

Guinan raised a hairless eyebrow before she spoke. "Q did _not_ prevent the Orion cadets from demonstrating how Orions celebrate their holidays."

Jean-Luc thought for a moment. "There are four females and two male Orion cadets."

"They are all in excellent health," Beverly added as her brain began to function again. She needed to catch her breath so she walked over to the closest Carrara marble bench by the balustrade and slowly sat down.

"I assigned the Orions to the same dorm as the Risians," Jean-Luc added. He had figured at the time that it was best to have all the cadets who belonged to publicly expressive sexually oriented cultures living in the same dorm. He knew he couldn't prevent the inclinations of certain species. And since he didn't really want a repeat of all the naked incidents that had occasionally plagued Admiral Brand's rule as superintendent, he figured that having all such inclined cadets staying in one dorm made sense. He hadn't really counted on how desperately certain Terran and Klingon cadets would want to also be assigned to the same dorm. (But that's another story.)

And then it dawned on Jean-Luc Picard what the Orion cadets had done. "Oh no, they didn't."

"Oh yes, they did." Guinan smiled as she said it. "But only to the champagne punch bowls - not the cadet's punch bowls."

"It specifically states in every Orion cadet's hand book that the unknowing, unauthorized distribution of aphrodisiacs is forbidden on Academy grounds." Then it registered on Jean-Luc what he'd just said. _"And we are not on Academy grounds…" _He mentally moaned even as he made a mental note to remind Mildred to get that Academy handbook immediately rewritten.

"They meant well, Jean-Luc," Guinan benignly added.

"That is little comfort." He paused for a moment, then spoke. "How bad is it?" Jean-Luc commanded.

Guinan smiled. Jean-Luc did not care for the look of her expression. "Well, you two are leading the parade at the moment."

"We were behaving worse than first year cadets," Beverly moaned even as she still sought to stifle the desires that had been raised between herself and her husband. Clearly, this was not the place to resolve them.

"It's not that terrible, Beverly," Guinan advised. "Whenever a woman your age can compare your sex life to that of a first year cadet, trust me Beverly - it's not that bad."

"You don't know what my first year as a cadet was like," Beverly grumbled.

"Jean-Luc, on the other hand…," Guinan teased.

He stood, straightened out his uniform, tugged his dress jacket down, and imperially glared at Guinan daring her to discuss his sex life as a first year cadet.

The lady was not impressed.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Jean-Luc and Beverly walked along the terrace, stopping every now and then to take a sip from their high ball glasses filled with French sparkling waters. Both were trying to cool off, so to speak. And they were checking to see if any of their distinguished guests or cadets, were in _trouble. Or about to cause trouble..._

But so far, all was as it should be. And there was nary a Q in sight. _Over this, Jean-Luc began to relax. For if Q were plotting something surely he would have done it by now…_

They strolled, walking down the terrace steps and onto a garden pathway leading them around the dance floor. And then, Jean-Luc thought of something. "Let's ask the band to make the last dance a tango," he suggested.

Beverly paused, sipped some more sparkling water, and then nodded, somewhat surprised by her husband's suggestion. "I thought that you weren't going to dance the tango with me in public."

His smile was gentle even though there was more than just a twinkle in his eye, as he gazed at his wife. He liked the way she looked in the Christmas lights and the candle lights. She wasn't just beautiful. She was also _pretty_, tonight. And being _pretty_ was not something that Beverly usually aspired to be. Then he remembered that Beverly had been speaking to him. "I'm sorry, _mon coeur. _My mind wandered. A vision distracted me." He knew that she would understand. "As for why I wish to dance the tango… Well, you gave me the incentive. I have changed my mind."

"Then your suggestion sounds like an excellent idea." She was in agreement with her husband. Especially since they both knew where dancing the tango would lead them, later on this night. She smiled in anticipation.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Mildred joined Guinan as they stood behind the main buffet table watching their guests eat and dance. Ludvig had just refreshed the table for he was expecting more cadets to arrive as the night progressed. She glanced over at a Klingon cadet standing guard by the champagne punch. The cadet nodded that all was protected. No Orions had approached. She looked back over at Guinan. "How goes it?"

"So far, nothing too out of the ordinary," Guinan responded. "I've managed to calm down a few lovers." She smiled. "I have also recommended the more distant, secluded garden paths and the orangerie to a few other couples who couldn't wait. So, so far, there is nothing that we can't manage. Oh, and Q seems to have vanished. I threatened him with my Uncle Terkim. It seems to have worked."

As the band was on break, there was a group of carolers wandering about. Guinan listened to them for a moment.

Ever watchful, Mildred nodded. "Good." She picked up a small bone china plate, inspected the dessert table, ignored all the butter cream temptations and helped herself to a little of Ludvig's special Belgian boiled fruit cake. _It was scrumptious. Especially since it was liberally soaked in the Picard version of calvados._

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Beverly knew that Jean-Luc could waltz. After all, she had danced it with him at their wedding reception on board the _Enterprise_. But watching from the sidelines, Jean-Luc swirl Dr. Bolt about the dance floor surprised her. There was a grace to his movements and a deftness to his step that indicated more than just a passing acquaintance with waltzing. Continuing to observe the way that Dr. Bolt's long, silver sequined evening gown swept about the floor in decided spiral patterns, Beverly decided that she was definitely going to have to question her beloved about his stated _'No Dancing'_ policy that he had announced as captain of the _Enterprise. _Clearly, he was keeping secrets. _From her!_

Beverly then became aware that Admiral Alynna Nechayev was now sitting next to her on one of the padded back gilt sofas. Beverly had taken a respite there for the benefit of her slightly swollen ankles. She supposed it was selfish of her to not want the company of anyone other than her husband at the moment.

"If I had known that Jean-Luc could dance like that, I'd have made him my official escort every time I had to attend a diplomatic function," Alynna complained. "I only thought that he danced like that with you." She sipped some champagne. "Jean-Luc has always been a man of many secrets…" She studied Beverly a moment, taking in the look of her. "So how are you feeling, Beverly? Oh, and congratulations too."

Beverly closed her eyes for a moment. Apparently nothing was secret at Starfleet Command - at least when it came to gossip about the Picards. "I'm doing well, Alynna. And you?"

"I think it's time I schedule another admirals' conference on Risa. Care for an invitation?"

"Only if I can bring Jean-Luc."

Alynna only raised an eyebrow as she tried to cross her legs in her ruby pencil skirt. She ended up crossing her ankles instead. "I'll invite Jean-Luc this time. But next year, it will be a '_girl's only_' conference. You'll probably be begging for the respite a few months after having your twins." Her eyes narrowed. "Besides, I'd like to see _Papa Jean-Luc_ try and cope by himself. It might give him a more charitable viewpoint about women in command positions trying to raise a family."

Beverly only nodded, not quite in the mood to start discussing certain issues that still plagued women.

Alynna finished off her champagne, handed the flute to a passing waiter, and nodded at Beverly. "Well, I'd better go see what my husband's doing. Nothing like a civilian at an admiral's party. He is probably preaching somewhere that Kirk was right to break the Prime Directive."

"I probably would agree with him," Beverly just had to add.

"I know," Alynna archly stated. "Nice party."

Then what Alynna had just said sank in. "You have a husband?" Beverly couldn't believe that she hadn't heard of him before. _Or that Mildred hadn't told her._

"I only bring Harriman out and dust him off for special occasions. And I just had to see what you and Jean-Luc would do for your first party." And then she left.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"Why can't I have a piece of chocolate cake?" he queried.

She only smiled at her husband. "Because we have to make the rounds one more time, make nice one more time, and listen to a few more boring stories one more time. After that, our guests are on their own. They can party all night. I don't care. Our bedroom is sound proofed." She waved her hand about and then pointed. "And then we can sit down near our Christmas tree, listen to some more Christmas carols, plan our Paris trip, and then have a light supper culminating in several slices of Ludvig's magnificent chocolate cake. After that, we will dance the night away."

Jean-Luc nodded, accepting that Beverly really was in a good mood. And that she was feeling well too. He could tell that she was brimming with energy at this moment. And for a man who really didn't like parties, this party was an exception. And other than the Orion glitch, everything had gone remarkably well. He was pleased.


	6. Chapter 6: à Noël

_**A.N.: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I really wanted to polish the scene, for such a scene is fun and easy to talk about and reference. But in actually describing the events of such a scene, I had to tread rather carefully. An amorous, inebriated Jean-Luc Picard is an interesting plot concept. But keeping him in character takes a bit of doing… Not to mention figuring out what Beverly is up to…**_

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 6: à Noël: **_

_**Paix sur la Terre, bonne volonté envers les Hommes **_

_**(At Christmas: Peace on Earth, good will toward Men…)**_

_**The storm…**_

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Like most unexpected, memorable events, it usually starts with something small. A small incident. A small gesture. A small throw-away phrase. Or, a seemingly small command…

In this case, it began with a silly blond female cadet again mistaking Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley for a waiter because he was dressed in black and white. The pushy blond who had snuck into the Picard family corridor still hadn't recognized the head of Starfleet. So when she saw what she thought was the rude waiter standing there behind the buffet table talking to a chef, she treated him like the unimportant underling that she thought that he was. She didn't know that Wiley was trying to bribe Ludvig away from the family Picard again. Not that he would be successful. But Ludvig figured that it wouldn't hurt to be polite to the head of Starfleet just in case. Still, the cadet, who had only drunk two glasses of punch, was clueless. And in the near future, she wouldn't have the excuse of her alcoholic consumption to explain her behavior.

Freshman Cadet Ashleigh Sloane was not that unintelligent. Any person who made it into the Starfleet Academy had to have some sort of brainpower. She was, however, a 'legacy' cadet. This meant that since her parents, and her grandparents, and her great-grandparents had been Starfleet officers at some point during their lives, she had not been required to work quite so hard to get admitted into the Academy as some other cadets may have had to have worked. It also helped that her parent's families were old money, old school, and highly politically connected. In short, she really felt that she was entitled to be where she was. And to do what she wanted regardless of all the rules that she felt did not apply to her. And since she'd only known this certain style of life all of her life, her few friends and the wannabes that aped her behavior assumed that she would always be a favored cadet. When the truth was that if she had been an ordinary cadet, she might not have made it into the Academy without a lot of extra studying.

On the other hand, Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley might have been willing to overlook her transgressions if she had used her head, since she was a spectacularly beautiful young woman wearing a very short blue dress with an eye-catching décolletage. Admiral Wiley was always appreciative of the charms of a beautiful woman. But then this cadet made a major mistake. She opened her mouth.

Admiral Wiley began to question the Academy entry screening processes as he listened to this cadet rant on, rudely ordering him to fetch her a bottle of champagne. His dismissal of her command did not sit well with Cadet Sloane. This cadet also didn't notice the dropping of the jaws from people standing around the waiter as she began her tirade. She was rather foolish. And if there was anything that this Admiral could not abide was a fool.

Her companions on the other hand, had started noticing those things. One of them especially observed the 'waiter' motioning with his hand to silence those around him even as Ashleigh was now denigrating the waiter's ancestry. And being true to his nature, Wesley Crusher's science teammate, Elkanah Kent figured out that now might be a good time to get out of the line of fire. He started pushing the other blond out the door toward the terrace. Elkanah was many things. But he wasn't a fool. He disappeared as swiftly as he could, heading for the garden.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Lwaxana was having a very good time. She'd discovered that quite a few of the male humanoid cadets did not mind dancing with the Senior Ambassadress from Betazed. They considered it to be an honor. And Lwaxana considered it to be fun. Lwaxana also rather surprised a few of her younger partners with the fact that she knew the steps to most of the most current popular dances from places like Centauri and Risa. She might have a little age on her bones, but her enthusiasm for learning new things such as dances, had never grown old.

Not that Lwaxana wasn't also keeping an eye on her current paramour, Winston Holt Wiley. Even as she raised her glittering gold and purple sleeves to match her partner's intricate slapping game that was part of this Rigellian dance sequence, she was still sending a discreet glance Winston's way. And now she was puzzled. _Why was a very beautiful cadet wearing a dress that even Lwaxana would consider scandalous, yelling at the head of Starfleet? _Eventually Lwaxana's curiosity got the better of her. She rather passionately kissed her partner, waved bye-bye, and sashayed off the dance floor to enter the ball room through the French doors near where Winnie was standing. She didn't have to look back to know that her former dance partner had a pole-axed expression on his face. They always did when Lwaxana got through with them.

Lwaxana sized up the situation, making note of the fact that Winston was leering. Normally, Lwaxana would have laughed this off. But being under the influence of some of Admiral Picard's best wine as well as more than one of the differing Orion aphrodisiacs at the same time, Lwaxana was not quite thinking with her head. Instead, as she watched her lover patiently wait until the cadet utterly ruined herself, she noticed only one thing: Winston Holt Wiley's eyes were glued to the cadet's bouncing breasts.

And this was something she would not permit, especially when she was in the room. If her lover was going to notice jiggling bosoms, well then, _it had better be hers._

"You want a bottle of champagne?" Lwaxana howled coming up on the cadet from behind. "Well, here it is!" Lwaxana reached over and picked up an open bottle from the champagne stand and poured it all over the screeching blonde's perfectly coifed golden hair.

The cadet didn't think. She just reacted. Picking up the closest polluted punch bowl, she threw the contents at Lwaxana. But she missed her target for the bowl was a lot heavier than she had thought. Instead the punch went over the crowd that had been forming. And two of the Orion female cadets who had angled their way closest to Lwaxana, got doused the most with the cherry punch. Both Orions were wearing red tissue type mini-skirted dresses. The fabric was opaque when dry. But once the spraying punch drenched them, the nubile bodies of the Orion cadets were instantly on display.

For some reason, both Orion cadets had mistletoe sprigs tapped to certain body parts underneath the now transparent tunics. The Orion females also were not wearing underwear - not that this was a surprise to most in the room. However, the suggestive placement of the mistletoe was somewhat unexpected.

Lwaxana idly wondered if the male Orion cadets were wearing mistletoe under their red clothing,. She thought about going in search of a bottle of champagne that she could spray over the Orions to find out. But first, she had to finish off the blond.

"You bitch!" the hopping mad blond cadet caterwauled as she picked up the next closest thing to her hands. It was a tray of deviled eggs and Bularian canapés. After she threw it toward Lwaxana, the cadet was pleased to note that some of the canapés stuck to this shrieking, interfering woman. In fact, one even slid down the valley between Lwaxana's breasts to lodge under the purple rhinestone neckline. Then the cadet said something really stupid. "_You're too old - even for the waiter!"_

Lwaxana was not amused. And she was not above getting even, either. "Really?" Lwaxana too-politely queried as she picked up a large bowl holding a traditional mashed yam and marshmallow casserole. _"You foolish little girl - you have an imagination smaller than that of an Elassian muck toad!" _She imperiously sneered at the blond, even as her bazooms heaved_. _"_I can be as magnificent a bitch as I wish to be - as is my sacred right as a most noble daughter of the Holy House of Rixx…" _She pitched the casserole with the greatest of ease. Unfortunately, Lwaxana's aim still wasn't too good. She missed again.

The casserole landed kerplop on top of the head of a massive Klingon warrior who had his hands full. For he was attempting to keep certain Rigelians from absconding with the giggling Orion cadets who were pleased that the 'fun' part of their cultural party customs was about to start.

"Let the orgy begin!" someone cried.

"No!" Jean-Luc Picard roared as he fought to remain in control of himself. _And the party. And the thoughts of Beverly attending his private orgy…_

Matters weren't helped when one of the Orion cadets tried to lick marshmallows off the cheek of her Klingon protector. The Klingon rather liked it. Her Rigellian beau did not. Fisticuffs were exchanged as the Klingon released the cadets in order to do something painful and horrible to the battling Rigellian.

In spite of that distraction, it was then that Jean-Luc Picard observed something of even greater significance. And it was far more worrisome to Jean-Luc Picard, than a Klingon brawling. _Lwaxana Troi wasn't finished._

Lwaxana ignored the sputtering, wordlessly squawking blond cadet as she ineffectually stamped her foot. "And _you!_" Lwaxana whirled about, heaving. And as angry as a Betazoid wet hen could be if Betazed had hens. She punched her index finger into Winston Holt Wiley's red nose as she spoke, hitting him as she punctuated every one of her syllables with a jab. "_**You!**_Constantly staring at breasts! All day and every day! You know I don't like it! Yet you still do it! _When are you ever going to grow up? In your next Bajoran reincarnation?_"

Winston rubbed his nose and considered the possibility that his nose might be broken. Or at least bruised. He wasn't quite sure if he should answer Lwaxana's questions - not that she was letting him have a word in edgewise during her ranting.

Lwaxana did not cease with her criticizing. She flourished the train to her glittering Royal purple and gold gown, raising her arms and beseeching the heavens in a wailing screech, _**"Men!"**_ She was somewhat relishing her exuberant flair for the dramatic even as she continued her diatribe.

"Amen!" quite a few women chorused.

Winston Holt Wiley bellowed back even as he grabbed Lwaxana's arm twisting her around to face him again. "What about _you_? Constantly flaunting yourself at every male in every room that you ever sashay into, even when you're on my arm. As if you're always looking for something better than me. You think I like _that?"_

"I like to flirt!" she huffed.

"Is that what you call it?" Holt answered as all of these annoyances brought him to his boiling point. "I keep expecting men to ask me _'how much?' _for your favors! _That ain't my definition of flirting!"_

"_I'll show you 'flirting' you hairy Devolian lummox!" _Lwaxana grabbed the nearest open bottle of champagne and shook it.

"No! Not my '37!" the son of a vintner futilely wailed as he watched his rare vintage champagne thoroughly spray two of Lwaxana's virile Orion escorts.

It was indeed revealed that these male Orion cadets did have sprigs of mistletoe taped onto body parts as their pants became transparent from the rarefied liquid.

"_Jingle balls!" _Lwaxana gleefully observed as she reached forward to touch. It was perhaps her attempt to grab onto something to steady herself.

That was not Winston Holt Wiley's interpretation of her actions. _"No!" _Holt ordered. He felt compelled to stop her. So he grabbed what was closest to him and threw it at Lwaxana's head. His pitching arm was better than Lwaxana's arm. The contents of a large glass bowl squarely hit Lwaxana. The once fluffy whipped cream, chunky fruit and spiced sauce trifle slowly slithered down Lwaxana's bare back, leaving a trail of a gluey Chambord liqueur glaze in its wake until it hit her belt. From there, the mess began to form into globules and splodges that now were decorating Lwaxana's hand-sewn rhinestone train as gravity did its work.

The bowl slid from Holt's petrified fingers. Fortunately, the glass didn't break when it hit the floor with a thunk.

Those beings who were surrounding the bedlamite Betazed froze.

Even Holt, who was a man who rarely admitted, even to himself, that he was wrong, mentally acknowledged to himself that perhaps _he really shouldn't have done that. _He never even noticed Mr. Homm approach until Lwaxana's loyal servant picked him up, lifted the head of Starfleet over his head, twirled the man about a couple of times, and then, with great enthusiasm, threw him straight down onto the laden buffet table. Table legs at one end instantly collapsed under this force. Most of the food that was on the table slid. So did Winston.

Jean-Luc Picard watched this event as if it were in slow motion. (Which perhaps it was since Q was still in the room…)

Elegant food, exotic food, alien food, delicious food, and sticky food, all followed the relentless law of gravity as the serving dishes proceeded down the steeply angled table straight toward the head of Starfleet who was now prostrate on the floor. Gagh was one of the first trays to slide onto the head of Starfleet. The worms escaped whichever way they could. Some even worked their way under the admiral's jacket. This was followed by bok-rat in a rather spicy sauce. Gravies, chutneys and oily dressings came next. A variety of salads followed.

But when Lwaxana saw a large silver soup tureen move down the decline toward her lover, she mentally commanded Mr. Homm to pick him up and rescue him. Jean-Luc had a similar idea and got to the admiral at the same moment as Mr. Homm, just in time for the bouillabaisse to collide with the superintendent's ribs, splashing the fish soup everywhere over his white jacket and pants. For a brief moment, Jean-Luc closed his eyes and mightily wished that he did indeed have the powers of a Q so that he could send both Lwaxana and Holt to the perdition that they most royally deserved. But he didn't have the powers of the members of the Continuum, so he had to open his eyes and deal with this mess regardless of how much he did not wish to do so.

"Popcorn?" Q coolly asked of Guinan as they leaned over the loggia's railing, looking down as somewhat amused observers from the balcony that ran the length of the room, unnoticed by the partygoers.

"I think maybe it's time I rescue Jean-Luc," Guinan announced as she fluttered the wings on her dress.

"Oh, give it another few minutes. The party is just now _really_ getting entertaining." Q looked about. "How much do you care to bet that the indomitable Mrs. Krebbie is recording all of this?" Then he smiled his 'evil' trademark smile. _"And if she isn't, I am._ I'll be able to torment Jean-Luc for years with some of these scenes…"

Guinan just glared at Q even as she reached over and grabbed a hand full of buttered popcorn from the antique Lalique crystal bowl that Q was using for his popcorn. It had bas relief naked nymphs adorning the sides, so Guinan knew exactly why Q had picked it to hold his popcorn. And that Q had stolen it from Jean-Luc's library. "Don't count on it," she politely responded.

"Count on what?" Q too-innocently queried.

Guinan only glowered at her cousin.

Q knew better than to get Guinan started. And he had yet to realize that Guinan was going to be around protecting Jean-Luc and Beverly once it was time for the twins' birth. Q wasn't going to get the chance to torment one of Guinan's favorite personal friends for quite a while.

Meanwhile, everyone stared at the unbelievable sight of Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley being held upright by Mr. Homm.

"Put me down!" the admiral ordered.

Mr. Homm decided to comply with this command without any prompting from Lwaxana. Homm dropped the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet onto the less-than-clean floor - not that at this point it made a difference to the state of the admiral's tuxedo.

Lwaxana casually strolled over to this admiral, placed the toe of her darling orange silk sandal against his ribs and lightly kicked him. "Does it tickle?" she benignly asked as if she had just requested the time of day.

"What?" Holt looked up at the be-sequined and rhinestone dressed harridan as if she had gone mad.

"Does the gagh tickle? I've heard that they are bloodsuckers too." She leaned down, her breasts now on full display for anyone who was looking, inspected the mess, picked up a wriggling worm from her lover's no-longer-pristine-white collar and flipped the long invertebrate in the direction of the closest Klingon.

Winston retaliated. He reached up, grabbed his lover's wrist, and pulled her down to land directly on top of him. _And his mess_. The gagh began to migrate. "What do you think?" Winston politely asked even as the worms squiggled closer to the expanse of bosom that still was on display. He was fully expecting Lwaxana to start shrieking.

Instead, Lwaxana picked up a worm, dragged it through some sort of lumpy, purple chutney that was soaking into Holt's right shoulder pad, and then ate it with all the panache of a haughty female Klingon warrior.

The Fleet Admiral froze for a moment. It was not that he didn't believe Lwaxana's actions. He had known the lady a long time. And nothing that she did ever really surprised him now, especially after what had happened in a storage closet with this lady when he'd attended Jean-Luc and Beverly's wedding on board the _Enterprise_. No, Winston Holt Wiley froze because he was simply admiring the actions of the lady. The sheer audacity of her personality was incredible. Lwaxana Troi was truly a most memorable, legend-worthy woman. _And she was his. _There was only one response to this situation that Winston Holt Wiley could summon. The head of Starfleet laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Lwaxana matched him guffaw for guffaw.

Of course, this was now the moment when the Orion aphrodisiacs became fully potent and active - not that Lwaxana needed that much assistance in becoming aroused considering the fact that she was still in the _Phase_. She kissed Winston without restraint or rancor. She kissed him with sexual intensity, of which she had a lot. And their embrace became more passionate as the seconds ticked by. _In spite of the audience._

"That's my Lwaxana!" Q sagaciously remarked to himself even as Guinan climbed over the railing and floated down to the ballroom floor. For Guinan now felt that it was time to interfere. "A pity that the Continuum wasn't good enough for Lwaxana. She would have made a splendid Q…," he observed to himself. He decided that once her little fling with the pompous admiral who wasn't worthy of wearing a single gold braided epaulet, that he would try again with the lady who drank from the sacred cup of whatever. She'd be in need of consoling - not to mention acquiring a more sartorially splendid beau.

Q clicked his fingers and a tray of ooey-gooey Berengarian cupcakes appeared, floating in their neon green frosted glory next to Jean-Luc's personal imp. With great precision he started lobbing them toward any group that was just standing there, in the ballroom, and not doing _something. _Lime green frosting in the face was a good way to incite a group to brawling. Q chortled as he watched the results of his handiwork.

"_Mon Dieu_!" a discombobulated Jean-Luc Picard cursed. He never even noticed the green stain on the back of his jacket much to Q's displeasure.

Jean-Luc looked about him_. Nothing in the Starfleet handbook covered this situation _as he considered any and every possible solution - diplomatic or otherwise. He was actually considering stopping Holt's tryst _though part of his brain wondered how much he'd like it if someone interfered with his passionate wooing of Beverly…_

"They started it, so let them finish it," Guinan advised as she grabbed Picard by his dress uniform jacket collar and tried to haul him away as the surrounding mêlée resumed. For a pair of lovers passionately kissing was not that unusual sight at this moment in the revelry. "Go rescue Beverly," Guinan suggested. "She might need it."

"What?" And then he saw his wife's velvet-clad back behind the second buffet table. She wasn't in the line of fire, yet. But that could quickly change as the mud slinging and food flinging continued. As before, the Orions were the main center of contention.

More bystanders were now getting involved possibly because of Q's cupcake pitching. Some of the Klingons, who were not cadets, were trying to diplomatically - for Klingons - stop the food fight. There were Andorians however, who saw no reason not to join with the Orions in the honoring the Orion traditions. And they also saw no reason not to convince the Klingons of this fact. Matters weren't helped when the Algolian and the Gideon dignitaries joined this _debate_.

Meanwhile, Jean-Luc had managed to reach his wife relatively unscathed, and immediately shielded her with his body.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Beverly yelled. For yelling was the only way Beverly could communicate with her husband at the moment.

"What do you suggest?"

She glared at him, muttering something under her breath that he didn't quite catch. It sounded like cursing. Then she loudly suggested, "Duck!" even as she dropped to her knees.

Her warning came too late. With a decided splutt, something hit the back of Jean-Luc's neck and jacket even as Beverly pulled him down to her level. Then she stared at the mess on her hands. "Nooooo!" she wailed.

"What is it?" Jean-Luc was alarmed by her expression. He felt her instantaneous distress. "Are you hurt?"

"My cake! They're throwing my Christmas cake!" she cried. "_And I haven't had a piece of it yet!"_ She wiped her hands on Jean-Luc's shoulders. For she had already recognized that his jacket was ruined. But she still had a chance to save her dress.

"_**Ma Bûche de Noël!" **_screamed Ludvig as he made a dive toward his custom-made cake stand in a vane attempt to rescue it. "_My little bunnies_!" he sobbed as he watched them fly through the air to land on various combatants.

A Bolian grabbed a bunny and bit the head off. He muttered something that sounded like _Yum!_ before he went back to trying to kiss an Orion girl's mistletoe.

"Pervert!" Ludvig sobbed.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander S'Rock knelt down next to his bosses.

Mildred also joined them below the table top. "Shall I call out the shore patrol, _Johnny? _Or the San Francisco police?_"_ she suggested.

"I would think neither, Admiral," Lieutenant Commander S'Rock swiftly replied believing that this admiral was not quite capable of making a logical decision at the moment. For the lieutenant commander had observed that both Admirals Picard seemed to be under the influence of something. He could smell their rather strong pheromones.

Jean-Luc made the mistake of touching his neck and then found himself staring at Belgian dark chocolate goop on his hand. He forced himself to focus. "Why not, commander?"

"Do you wish this affair to be memorialized as the party where the head of Starfleet was arrested_? For lewd behavior_?" Picard couldn't help but glance over at the admiral and the ambassadress who were clearly demonstrating the legal definition of _lewd behavior_. S'Rock continued. "Not to mention the difficulties of having a variety of Federation Member governments protesting the manner with which their representatives were treated by the local constabulary."

In spite of the din around him, Jean-Luc recognized what a nightmare his simple gesture to lonely cadets had become. "What do you suggest, uh… Commander?" Jean-Luc was still having a hard time focusing for he had just caught a glimpse of Beverly's ankle and for a second he was caught up in the beauty of her red satin slipper.

"Throw Winnie in the brig? With Lwaxana in a separate cell?" Mildred unhelpfully recommended.

S'Rock ignored his immediate boss and spoke to his 'big' boss very calmly. "Release the Kraken," the Vulcan advised.

Mildred gasped then flopped down onto the floor with a jolt. _Two jokes in one night from a Vulcan? Impossible! It had to be Q…_

S'Rock gasped when he realized what he had said, and then slightly trembled as if he were fighting with himself for mental control. "I… misspoke, Admiral. I meant to suggest that you should send in the Klingons."

Picard, who had just forced himself not to stare at Beverly's leg, now had to recover from the additional trauma of hearing a Vulcan joke. Again. _Life could be so demanding at times. _It took him more than a moment before he agreed, seeing the wisdom of the Vulcan's suggestion. "If there is going to be an interstellar incident, who better than the Klingons to handle it? In this case, Klingon _diplomacy _might be the only solution, provided no one gets seriously injured."

A loud crash echoed about the ballroom that resembled a smaller version of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

"That was the Christmas tree, wasn't it?" Picard stoically asked.

Beverly stuck her head up above the edge of the table, for a moment. "Yes, it was." She looked up again. "The worst of the mob is heading toward the patio…"

"Is the mob carrying torches?" Jean-Luc gloomily asked for his attention was now focusing on his wife's lips. _For she was wearing a beautiful shade of red that clashed gloriously with her hair… Jean-Luc envisioned where else she might rub her lipstick this night…_

Beverly lovingly stroked her husband's cheek well aware of the direction of her husband's thoughts. She carefully avoided any of the butter cream frosting that was now oozing down her beloved's neck since the warmth of his body heat was melting it. "There isn't an Isabella or a Jeanette in sight. We can arise."

S'Rock instantly stood and assisted Admiral Picard to her feet, beating out the admiral's uncharacteristic awkward movements in an attempt to help Beverly.

"Take my wife to her quarters," Jean-Luc ordered of S'Rock as he forced certain thoughts away even as he stood. He pulled down his jacket front - not that it would do any good for his stained jacket.

"And miss all this?" Beverly muttered. "I don't think so." Jean-Luc only glared at her. She recognized that look. She'd seen it more than a time or two on board the _Enterprise._ She did not have to be empathically linked to him to know that he would brook no other response from her other than to leave. "Oh, all right," she grumbled as she stomped toward the door to the hallway deftly avoiding whatever food or beverage that had fallen onto the wood floor. She waved S'Rock away. "I know the way to my own quarters, Commander." When Beverly was in an annoyed, sarcastic mood, even a Vulcan knew better than to annoy her some more.

After making sure that his wife had left the room, Jean-Luc surveyed his domain. The fight - what was left of it - seemed to be outdoors now. A number of people were dancing around the fountain - and in the fountain. Numerous items of clothing were being tossed every which way.

Jean-Luc surveyed the ballroom. In a way, it was worse. What remained in its wake in the ballroom was even a bit more troublesome. Apparently the Orion aphrodisiacs worked very well - too well and on everyone, as it were. For there were amorous couples in corners, couples on top of sofas or chairs, and even a couple behind the toppled Christmas tree. And all were displaying behavior that was not what one usually expected to observe in public.

He was seeing sights that he would have prayed never to see if he had ever even had an inkling into considering such possibilities occurring at his party.

Wesley approached his step-father, holding on to two squirming Risian female cadets. They were doing their best to distract him. Unfortunately for the Risians, Wesley had not touched the aphrodisiacal champagne punch. (The Risians hadn't either. It was just in their nature to want to _party.) _Wesley was stone cold sober - as were most of the cadets who had not ventured into the 'dignitary' buffet line.

Jean-Luc could only warily eye his step-son as he observed the two limber female cadets doing their best to touch Wesley inappropriately. He grudgingly admired the young man's fortitude. And his adeptness at avoiding abundant temptation. _But then, this was Wesley, after all…_

"Sir, permission to lift the security ban so that we can start beaming cadets at least, back to where they belong?" Wesley asked.

"No, Cadet." S'Rock quickly spoke up. "There are still too many dignitaries here to lower the security protocols." He summoned a resigned Klingon. "I'll start having the sober cadets escort the affected dignitaries and cadets to the gates or the transporter and take them back to where they belong. I shall endeavor to impress upon the cadets that their escort duty should be without incident." The Klingon grabbed both squirming cadets about their waists and hauled the cadets away. These Risians would eventually make it back to their dorm room.

"Where's Mom?" Wesley asked of his stepfather as he momentarily relaxed after being relieved of the Risians.

"I sent her back to our quarters," Picard replied. He was still being distracted by the events going on around him, especially where it concerned the head of Starfleet and Lwaxana Troi.

"And my Mother just _went?" _Wesley tried not to sound too incredulous. "I'd have thought that she'd be organizing a de-tox hypospray brigade by now."

Picard mentally groaned. Wesley did have a point.

"There's no de-tox for Orion aphrodisiacs," Guinan opined as she silently strolled up to them. "Believe me, I know..." She glanced toward the gardens. "Surprisingly, in spite of the punch, there are not that many drunk cadets out there…" She gave Jean-Luc her best Cheshire cat grin. "I guess that there aren't too many cadets that were willing to brave the wrath of the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy by becoming drunk at his Christmas bash in spite of the spiked punch…" She gestured toward the garden. "There's hope for this lot, at least."

Jean-Luc acknowledged Guinan's words and the truth of them. The worst attendees of this party had not been his cadets. For a moment he was glad. And then he remembered his wife. On top of everything else, Jean-Luc Picard would have to worry about was what Beverly was up to again.

Beverly would find her own mischief, albeit it would not be of her own making.

_**A.N.: What was supposed to be a short story is turning into a novella. I just have to throw a few more scenes into this holiday mix. And just in case you're wondering, I belong to a family who has a tradition of taking down the artificial Christmas tree some time in February. Though we do turn off the outdoor lights…**_


	7. Chapter 7:La fête de Noël est terminée

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 7: La fête de Noël est terminée**_

_**The Party's over…**_

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

He'd watched her from afar.

He was a tall man, a big man. He wasn't exactly a stocky man but he appeared so since his body was all firmly honed muscle, not flab. When he was on a deep space mission he always exercised at 1.25G rather than Earth norm to achieve this condition. In days of old, someone might have described him in sports terms as a full back.

His hair had been the envy of quite a few men and women over the years. When he let it grow his raven's black hair had a curly life of its own. But right now, he was cutting it according to standard Starfleet specifications. Though he loved to flout convention, he always chose his battles with great care. The length of his hair was not a skirmish that he had to win. He just couldn't help it if he was the kind of man that would always be noticed whenever he entered a room.

He was gorgeous more so than handsome which was something that he'd used to his advantage all of his life. The dimples in his cheeks had won over many a woman in his life. And then there were his eyes. His eyes were a deep, mysterious blue that had inspired many a rhapsodic turn of phrase over the years. They also missed nothing as he looked about the ball room.

The man glanced about this so-far boring Christmas party. And then he froze, quite surprised to see her. He felt something at the sight of her. And he was stunned by the depth of the emotions that unexpectedly welled.

He watched her from afar. She had always been beautiful in his mind's eye, whether she wore her med coat or as she was now, wearing a snow white gown that only highlighted her vitality. Her passion for life glowed as if it were an aura about her.

He was surprised but rather pleased to see her for he had thought her to be shipboard some where. In his own way, he had missed her even though it had been years since he had seen her last…

He had not expected to find someone that he actually knew at this open house. This man had just returned from a long, deep space mission, and had nothing better to do on this Christmas day than to drink spiked punch and eat gourmet food. He had children. But they were with their grandparents on Caldos, and he hadn't been able to arrange to see them this holiday season. Which, sadly, was the norm for his relationship with his kids. He had remembered Beverly scolding him about his relationship with his children a long time ago. He supposed that he should have listened. But he was a supremely confident man. Once he'd made a decision, he never considered the possibility that he might be making a mistake.

But, as usual, he focused on the present, and not on a past which, if he were to ever even able to admit it to himself, held some regrets.

At first, he was just enjoying the pleasure of watching her move, especially as she danced. The way her hair flowed. The precision of her dance steps. The grace of her arm movements. The sway of her hips…

Her partner wasn't quite her equal when it came to terpsichorean skill, but it was obvious, even to people with a lesser sense of acuity than himself, that her partner was her source of her inspiration. He was watching a woman dance with the man that she loved. Though it had taken him a while to actually notice the wedding band on her hand, gleaming in the Christmas lighting.

He mentally sighed. He had known that eventually someone would marry the lady. Beverly had always been the marrying kind of women, even when she didn't realize it herself. He assumed that her dance partner was probably her husband. He seemed to have a similar wedding band on his left hand. He sighed again. _Nobody wore wedding rings any more._ The fact that they were wearing them also told the man that their arrangement was not for a contractually allotted span of time, like so many working Starfleet marriages were. No _two years and it's over with options for renewal _for this couple. No, the way that Beverly was dancing with the man, told this observer that Beverly had committed herself to a full blown forever kind of marriage with this man.

Turning, he walked away down a darkened service corridor. James O'Malley Howard was a disappointed man.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Wesley looked about the now-ship-shape ballroom with its tables bearing freshly replaced gourmet dishes thanks to Q. "Mrs. Krebs, what should we do with the food?"

"Let's put it all in stasis and send it over to the dorm cafeterias." She eyed Wesley. "You figure out which ones to send where."

"Should I send anything over to the lounge at Jean-Luc's office?"

"I've already staked my claim as to what I want sent over there, Wes." Mildred happily eyed her choices including the desserts.

Wesley idly watched as Ludvig directed what dishes were to be placed in the food preservation units, as Bronislawa tagged the containers before they were loaded into the service elevators and sent down to the transporter room. Ludvig motioned toward Wesley to come over to him. "Tell your step-father that I placed some food in the family dining room. I noticed that your mother did not get to eat that much tonight. Which is not that unexpected. The admirals rarely dined during functions on board the _Enterprise_." He leaned closer to Wesley as if to tell him something that he did not wish for Mildred to overhear. "And check the refrigerator. I put something special in there for your mother."

Wesley looked about, suddenly realizing that Admiral Jean-Luc Picard wasn't in sight.

Mildred walked over to Wesley. "I sent Jean-Luc to bed," Mildred explained as she noted the cadet's questioning look. "He needs to take care of your mother." She suddenly grinned. "Not to mention having to deal with Winnie and Lwaxana in the morning. I am _not_ going to be around for that conversation."

Wesley was a bright boy. The thought of what might occur in the morning sounded intriguing, but he had a suspicion that it might be better for his future career in Starfleet if he wasn't a witness to it. "Maybe I'll stay in the dorm tonight." He thought for a second more. "And maybe I'll get caught up on my studying."

Mildred arched an eyebrow. "You could always go back to LaBarre. It will be nice and quiet there - for studying. Jean-Luc and Beverly should be going to Paris this morning after Johnny gets done with all the disciplinary matters that are awaiting him. Marie and Robert are supposed to join Jean-Luc and your mother in Paris. So you could watch your cousin Rene, and get to know him better."

"Maybe I'll do that. I liked LaBarre though it is another world there. It is as alien as anything I once encountered on board the _Enterprise._" Wesley hugged Mildred. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Krebs." Then he unwisely observed, "How is it that you don't have a stain on your grey dress? Considering the amount of food that was thrown…"

"Wes, honey, do you really think that anyone is really foolish enough to throw something at _me?"_

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

**"**Cadet Crusher to Admiral Jean-Luc Picard."

Jean-Luc wearily bopped his comm badge. "Yes, Wesley."

"I'm going to be staying at the dorm tonight. And then, tomorrow, if I may, I'll be joining you in going back to LaBarre. I need to get some studying done, and I figure that LaBarre is as quiet a place as any. Besides, I'll be able to get to know Rene a little better while you and Mom are in Paris."

"That's very thoughtful of you. I look forward to it. Picard..."

Wesley interrupted him. "Oh, there's one other thing. Ludvig says that he left something special for Mom in our dining room refrigerator. And some food as well just in case you both get hungry during the night."

"Thank you, Wesley. Merry Christmas." He altered his course to walk to the family dining room.

"Merry Christmas to you too... Jean-Luc."

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Beverly couldn't understand where her husband was. She felt that he was near by. But something was delaying him. Deciding to go in search of her beloved, she left their suite and walked about the semi-dark corridors lit only by wall sconces.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed her about the waist and twirled her around.

Beverly instantly knew that she was not in the arms of her husband. But her body recognized her former lover even before she became cognizant of his identity. She was held in a firm embrace as she found herself being thoroughly and passionately kissed. For a brief moment, her hormones flared. They were already surging because of her pregnancy. And they were now further enflamed by the Orion aphrodisiacs. So she responded to the kiss - if only for a moment. _He was familiar. And he really was as good a kisser as she remembered… _A minute later she broke away from his embrace.

"Jamie!" she lowly murmured, even as he refused to let her step away from him. She swatted his forearms that were still holding her shoulders. And he reluctantly released her.

"Ah, _Red…_" He twirled her around again. "_How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart..._ _(William Butler Yeats)" _His eyes took in every little bit of her…

Beverly lightly laughed as she inspected him too, and then embraced him. "Jamie, you haven't changed a bit! _Dammit_. You think that the quoting of a little bit of Irish poetry will grant you absolution about the way you've always left me…"

Blue eyes glanced down at the front of her dress. "I may not have changed, but you have changed, _Red_." He firmly touched her stomach and judged its roundness. "When is the baby due? Six months?" And then he gave her a smile that rivaled one of William Riker's best offerings. "And as for the granting of absolution, a bit of poetry has always worked well - with you."

"_Maybe that is why she married me." _Jean-Luc Picard walked toward the man who was still holding onto his wife. A few minutes earlier Jean-Luc had gotten quite a shock when he realized that his wife had kissed another man with passion, however fleetingly. And his first instinct was to go in search of her, finding the man, socking his jaw, and then jealously declaring to whomever this bounder was that Beverly was _claimed - that she was his wife!_ But Jean-Luc was a man of many disciplines, and his more rational side was in charge of himself at the moment, in spite of the evening's ordeals. He could see that this man was confused by his coolly uttered words even as Beverly turned and gave him the special smile that was only for him. "I wooed the lady with passionate poetry," he explained. "As you can see, it worked." Jean-Luc had to possessively add, "_We_ are expecting twins."

Jamie released Beverly who immediately went into Jean-Luc's arms and lightly kissed him on the lips. "Jean-Luc quotes Shakespeare whenever he gets the chance," Beverly laughingly remarked. She held out her hand to the intruder. "Jamie Howard, this is my husband, Jean-Luc Picard."

The Irishman stiffened just for a moment, as if he recognized the name. And then his friendly façade was firmly back in place. "Captain." He politely nodded as he took Beverly's hand, squeezed it, and then shook her husband's hand.

"Actually, it is '_Admiral_' Picard," Beverly quickly explained. "Jean-Luc is the new superintendent of Starfleet Academy. And I'm temporarily back as CMO of Starfleet." Her grin turned wicked. "And I am an _admiral _to boot, too." She stuck her tongue out at him. And she didn't have to look at her husband to know that he was surprised by his wife's childish action. She turned and faced her husband. "When I was here the first time as CMO, I was only a _mere_ Lieutenant Commander. _And Jamie constantly bedeviled me, trying my very soul by being constantly insubordinate and telling me that he didn't have to obey me since he was a captain and I was not." _Her grin held more than a hint of payback as she added, "And now, he doesn't have a legitimate excuse to contradict me. I can throw him in the brig whenever I wish."

Jamie bestowed upon Beverly another practiced, charming smile. Jean-Luc didn't like this one even more. "I'll still tell you to your face when you're wrong, Beverly, love, brig or no brig; rank or no rank." He didn't have to examine Admiral Picard to know that the man was wary about his relationship with his wife. "I'm a doctor, by the way," Jamie quickly added as if that were sufficient explanation. "And a somewhat distant cousin." He warmly smiled over at Beverly. "We go so far back, I have even seen Beverly's hair in pigtails…"

All Jean-Luc could say to this was, "I see." Jean-Luc knew that his reaction to this man was instinctual, and probably issuing forth from the irrational side of his nature. But his gut told him only one thing: _he did not like this man_. Especially since he could deduce by what he was sensing from his wife, that at some point in time, and hopefully it was the very distant past, that this man had been Beverly's lover.

"We go back a long way, Jean-Luc," Beverly hastily explained as if to confirm Jean-Luc's impression. "My Nana was a second cousin, twice removed, with his great-great-aunt Mary Rose - I think."

"Something like that," Jamie quickly added.

"_Kissing_ cousins, I gather…" Jean-Luc dryly observed.

"You could say that," Jamie agreed. _This man might be married to Beverly, but he had had her first.._.

Jean-Luc could tell that his wife was not quite pleased with the sudden shift in the direction of this conversation. Part of his psyche released its hold on the jealous side of his nature as he sensed his wife's annoyance with her ex-lover. His voice was properly cordial as he queried, "I take it that you're on leave?"

"Just got off the _Robert Heinlein. _We were in the Gamma Quadrant for two years."

"I'm sure that you and Beverly have a lot to discuss with each other." Jean-Luc lightly squeezed Beverly's waist. "But right now, my wife needs her rest."

The medical professional that was Jamie Howard's soul immediately agreed. "Get some rest, Beverly. Where can I reach you?"

"Here," Jean-Luc quickly answered.

"This is _your_ house?" Jamie couldn't hide his amazement. For though he'd seen many houses in his lifetime, he had considered this place to be one of the more impressive edifices that he'd discovered.

"Yes," Beverly swiftly answered. "We just moved in a few months ago."

"Well, you Picards do know how to throw a heck of a party."

Jean-Luc did not miss the slight sarcastic tone to this man's words, even as he eyed the man's white dress uniform. There wasn't a stain on it. "I take it that you managed to avoid tonight's little _contretemps_…"

"I fell asleep in some sort of conference room... It's been a very long couple of days…" He shrugged and then took a step backwards. "Beverly, I'll call you in a few days. I'm going to be spending a couple of weeks in San Francisco before I go on leave. We'll get together." Jamie pointed toward a distant staircase. "That way is out, I take it."

Beverly nodded, even as Jean-Luc turned to guide her down the hallway to the staircase at the other end of the corridor that led to their floor. She silently went with him for she could tell that her husband was reaching the end of his rope on this long, Christmas night.

It was time for bed.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"Oh, I could just _kiss_ Ludvig!"

Jean-Luc eyed his naked wife as she licked her dessert fork. "I would rather prefer it if you kissed me instead."

"Maybe I will - after I finish this cake." She dug into the chocolate frosting some more. "It was so sweet of Ludvig to bake an extra cake just for me…"

"Yes, it was." Jean-Luc put down his teacup on the nightstand and slid under the covers, still sitting up. "Don't I at least get to taste this masterpiece? For I am the man who brought it to you, remember?"

"Let me think about it." She dipped a finger into the butter cream and then smeared it across her husband's lips. "True, you could have eaten it all by your lonesome. Or left the cake for Mildred…" She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, slowly wiping the frosting with her tongue and then offering it to her husband as part of a lover's kiss.

"But then I thought of you..." For a while, he just concentrated on kissing Beverly, and re-arousing fires that had only just been satiated. But then the taste of the chocolate began to penetrate his senses. He broke away from her. "What is this stuff?"

"Good, isn't it?" she teased She picked up her fork and offered her husband another taste of the cake. He ate it. And not only by his expression could Beverly tell that he was surprised by how very good it was. "Shall I do as the Orions do and place pieces of this cake on certain places of my anatomy where I wouldn't mind you nibbling?"

"No!" was his quick response as he took her fork away from her and then ate another bite.

It was her hidden laughter that gave her away for he could still sense it. "It's that good, isn't it?" She picked up the small platter, took her fork from her husband and placed it on it, and then reached over and put the stasis dome back on top of it before placing the platter safely on the floor. "It's actually too good to play with - we'll save it for when we have all the time in the world to experience it properly…" She turned onto her side and pulled her husband down next to her. "Now, where were we…"

After kissing for another minute or so, he whispered, "I think that the aphrodisiacs have worn off…"

"Really?" From the way she was now touching him firmly, she knew the opposite to be true.

"The aphrodisiacs may be gone, but you are not. And you are all that I will ever need…" He found that special place on her neck that drove her wild.

Part of her resented the fact that he always said such things to her when her mouth was occupied and she could not respond in kind. But then she instantly forgave him for he'd just found a new way to give her bliss…

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

The laughter was loud. Raucous. At times, hysterical. And often punctuated with the sound of a palm slapping against the desk. Hard. And this cacophony had been going on for more than ten minutes.

Nurse Ogawa and Nurse Beck slowly inched toward the CMO's private office, wondering if they should intrude. Or perhaps burst in armed with a sedative.

A hysterical cackle accompanied by "_Oh no, she didn't!"_ convinced Nurse Ogawa to timidly knock on the door.

"What?" the CMO yelled as the door slid open.

Nurse Beck motioned for Nurse Ogawa to go first for their CMO sounded annoyed by their intrusion.

Nurse Ogawa stuck her head in the doorway. "Hello, Doctor Pulaski."

"What?"

"I was just wondering if there is anything that I can do for you?"

Kate Pulaski raised an eyebrow as if mimicking an old friend, and barked, "Just what do you suppose needs doing?" She glared at Beck. He backed away. Then she grinned, relaxing. "But I'm the one scaring the patients, aren't I? Not to mention Beck." She stood and laughed - this time more sanely - and nodded toward the sickbay. "Anybody out there dieing?"

"Uh, No, Doctor."

"Do you need me?"

"No, Doctor."

"Good. I'll show you part of this later then, Alyssa." She picked up a data chip from off of her desk and clutched it as if it were a piece of latinum. "Right now, I've got to go plague the captain. Everybody needs a good laugh at least once a day. And I've got more than a year's worth here in my hot little hand…"

"I see, Doctor." Not that she did. Alyssa moved out of the way as Doctor Pulaski walked out of her office.

"Actually you don't." She patted Alyssa's shoulder. "But I'll show you the vid that Mildred Krebs sent to me later on. It's of the first party that the Admirals' Picard hosted. Wait until you see Jean-Luc Picard dancing the mambo…" Kate shook her head as she walked away. "I'm not quite sure which parts I should show Deanna, though. Not that Deanna isn't used to Lwaxana being outrageous. But this time, her mother might have gone too far…"


	8. Chapter 8: Le Lendermain de Noel

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 8: Le Lendemain de Noël**_

_**(Boxing Day)**_

Jean-Luc Picard placed his Limoges bone china coffee cup back onto its matching saucer, and slightly grimaced. Though the coffee was excellent, he realized that he really should have ordered tea instead. He was not in a 'coffee' mood this morning. He'd only ordered coffee because Beverly had been dreaming about coffee during the night. Sighing, he briefly glanced out the French doors to look upon the shadowy garden in the dawn light.

"Wesley, will you accompany your mother to France, this morning?"

"I thought that Mom was going to go with you," Wesley cheerfully replied as he dug into his spinach and gouda cheese omelet.

"Matters here will delay me." He stood and walked to the replicator in their family breakfast room and ordered some tea. Earl grey. Hot. "I don't wish for Beverly to travel alone and especially not in her condition."

Even though he wouldn't say it to his step-father's face, Wesley thought that the man sounded somewhat grumpy this morning. Not that he could blame Jean-Luc Picard for feeling this way. Last night's party had been memorable. Unfortunately it was for all the wrong reasons. Still, Wesley found himself inwardly grinning. Though he would not have wished last night's debacle on anyone much less his former captain, there was still a part of his soul that had found the situation amusing. _For Wesley had finally discovered that Jean-Luc Picard was not perfect…_

"Why don't I take Mom and her luggage to Paris? I'll book her into the hotel, and then I can go on to LaBarre. We could ask Aunt Marie to go to Paris earlier than planned to be with Mom. It's almost afternoon there, isn't it?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "And then I should be able to meet up with them in time for dinner tonight." It was the time difference that still bothered him. That and the fact that he knew that Beverly would be tired this morning for they'd gotten little sleep last night. He still felt tired, even after his first dose of caffeine. And his tiredness was multiplied by what he was sensing from Beverly. _Perhaps they should postpone their trip until tomorrow…_

A very determined "_NO!" _clearly bolted across his thoughts. _Beverly was awake… and feisty. And looking forward to seeing Paris with her romantic Frenchman of a husband..._

"I'll even convince Mom that the change in plans is her idea," Wesley answered, not really noticing his step-father's absorbtion with other thoughts.

Jean-Luc merely raised an eyebrow, acquiesced mentally to his wife's refusal to alter their plans, finished off his tea, put aside the regulation mug, glanced out the window at the misty, peaceful view of the rose garden, and then returned to sit down at the Victorian wrought iron and glass topped breakfast table.

"Wesley, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

Considering all that had happened last night, Wesley could only generally guess as to the direction of the topic of Jean-Luc's discussion.

"If I can help in any way, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc harrumphed to himself. He knew that Wesley had deliberately used his first name as if to remind the admiral that this conversation would be informal. "The punch was spiked last night."

"Sir, it would have been a wonder if it hadn't been."

Wesley's honest answer did not surprise the superintendent. "Are you aware of _how_ the punch was spiked?"

"Not specifically, Jean-Luc. I've never really associated with the crowd that liked to figure out ways to uphold an unofficial Academy tradition." Wesley barely hid his grin.

Jean-Luc nodded, knowing that this was true. "Whomsoever did it reprogrammed the replicators to replace synthehol with real alcohol, regardless of what synthehol beverage was ordered."

Wesley almost dropped his coffee cup. "That's impossible! Didn't Data write the program? Someone actually _broke_ Data's coding?"

"Commander LaForge and Commander Data wrote the current program standards for the prevention of creating real alcohol with the replicators. And apparently a cadet or cadets achieved a feat that I would have thought was near-impossible to accomplish."

Wesley shook his head as he considered the possibilities. "Wow. That's some programming feat."

"And that is precisely my dilemma, Wesley."

The cadet looked at him, wondering what it was that his step-father really wanted of him.

"Officially, Wesley, I have to find the perpetrator. But if that person or persons, was smart enough to accomplish this, even though in theory, they should be expelled from the Academy, I cannot find myself ordering it."

"They're too smart to lose…," Wesley deduced.

"Precisely."

Suddenly Wesley felt nervous. "Sir, I, uh don't really know for sure who did this…"

"But I suspect that you might have a suspicion or two as to the identity of the cadets involved."

"Well, if they are in the senior class, I might possibly guess. But I really don't know who might be capable of doing this in the lower classes…"

"I am not asking you to officially play detective, Wesley. Commander S'Rock and Mrs. Krebs will unearth the perpetrators, eventually."

"Then what do you want me to _unofficially_ do, Jean-Luc?"

"If you get a chance, seek out the suspect parties. Quietly assure them that if they voluntarily come forward, they will not be expelled. Though they will have to undergo some sort of discipline. But it will not be an official black mark on their record, _if_ they cooperate with the fixing of the problem to make sure that no one else in Starfleet can repeat their accomplishment."

Wesley felt somewhat uncomfortable with what his step-father was suggesting. Ever since the Nova Squadron incident, his status as a cadet in Starfleet was tenuous. He was used to being viewed with suspicion by his fellow cadets. And carrying an _'unofficial'_ message from his Superintendent step-father would not help his current status or allay their suspicions. "Sir, I…"

"You might want to tell the possible guilty parties about your way with nanites." Jean-Luc's smile held a touch of irony. "If I didn't damn you then, then I will probably not condemn them now for their ingenuity."

Wesley nodded, accepting his step-father's point of view. He considered several possible solutions. It would require some discretion, but he could do it. "I think I'll go upstairs and see how Mom is doing. Unless she's still sleeping?" He glanced over at Jean-Luc wondering if the man was still sensing his mother's feelings.

"Beverly's awake. She is in a reasonably good mood. And she is looking forward to her trip to Paris provided she takes her nap." Jean-Luc mentally added, _"Like you promised._" Jean-Luc warmly smiled as he felt her agreement through their KesPrytt induced telepathic link. For the moment, all was peaceful between them and their progeny. "You'd best bring her some ginger tea and croissants. And then tell her that I'll see her in Paris in a few hours."

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

When Admiral Picard had arrived at his office too early for most especially during a break, he immediately began having beamed onto the desks about the office complex, the small gifts that he'd brought for his staff, as was his Boxing Day tradition. Though this was not a tradition that he'd maintained on board the _Enterprise. Captain Picard_ had not thought it appropriate to give gifts to assigned officers under his command. But it was different here on Earth, since so many of his staff were actually his civilian employees rather than Starfleet officers. And as for the assigned officers here, well, if they didn't wish to be under his command, they had a plethora of choices at their fingertips, unlike an officer stuck far away from Sector One on a starship in the Gamma quadrant.

He had tried to personalize the gifts where he could. For Commander S'Rock he'd chosen a book on philosophy that had been one of Sarek's favorite human works that he had read many times. For Cherry Ames S'Rock he'd given her a copy of Amanda Sarek's autobiography. He knew that she would need all the advice she could glean about living with a Vulcan husband.

He had given Ludvig earlier, a copy of his granmere's ancient family recipes, as well as ordering Ludvig to take the next two weeks off. Which just so happened to coincide with the remaining amount of time for the Academy's winter break. Though there was no official reason to disapprove of a romance between a cadet and a civilian, Admiral Picard was quite aware of the difficulties of such a romance. However, he was not going to do anything to discourage them.

As for Mildred, Beverly had already given the lady a Christmas gift of some hard-to-find Risian and Klingon erotica romances. Considering his wife's occasional twisted sense of humor, he did not doubt that Beverly had signed his name as well to that gift, thereby letting Mildred think that he had helped in obtaining the books. To make amends, his Boxing Day gift to Mildred was the most valuable of all of his presents. It was a very rare and very old bottle of his family's calvados brandy. He was positive that it was something the Winston Holt Wiley did not have in his cellars. Which meant that his actual present to Mildred would be the expression on Holt's face when he tasted the calvados for the first time and realized that Mildred possessed something that Holt did not have - and could not get. Jean-Luc inwardly smiled at the thought.

Though he did not know his Academy staff too well, he had arranged for bottles of his family's wine as individual gifts, where appropriate. As for the underage interns who were also part of his staff, he gave these cadets copies of James T. Kirk's autobiography. He hoped it might give them some perspective about space faring above and beyond the academic bureaucracy in which they were currently mired.

Then it was time to attend a meeting with Commander S'Rock, Mr. Murphy and Mrs. Krebs. He was not exactly looking forward to their reports. He entered his private conference room, and waited for all to arrive.

After S'Rock had efficiently conveyed all the current information about the spiked punch affair, Jean-Luc Picard nodded, sighed, and then looked over at Mildred who seemed to be remarkably perky this morning in spite of the early hour. And her late bedtime.

"Admiral Wiley?" he asked. "Where is he?"

"No where to be found," Mildred sprightly informed him. "Did you really think he'd be available after what happened last night?"

"One could only hope, I suppose."

"I don't think we'll see either Winnie or Lwaxana until Winnie has decided that you've gotten over your snit about what Lwaxana did to your party."

"Over my _what..."_ Jean-Luc suddenly stopped speaking for he realized that if the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet had made his presence known this morning, he might have received a snit-fuelled dressing down worthy of a first year cadet. Admiral Picard took a deep breath and calmly asked, "And what about the cadet that seems to have instigated it?"

"First year cadet Ashleigh Sloane." Mildred checked her padd, wrinkled her nose and considered a few things. "I'll get back to you next week about the girl. I've got a feeling about her…"

"Mrs. Krebs - make that two weeks from now. Actually make it the Monday before classes start up again."

"What?"

"You've got the next two weeks off, Mildred." Jean-Luc cast an eye toward his aide. "And you do too, Commander. You and your wife as well. You're officially on leave as of this afternoon."

Surprisingly, Commander S'Rock did not offer up a token protest. Perhaps the night's doings had been more wearisome than suspected.

Admiral Picard glanced over at Mr. Murphy to see if the man had any objections. He didn't think that he would since Mr. Murphy had just returned from a three month leave. If Mildred didn't find the idea of leaving the office under the command of Mr. Murphy disturbing, then he would not either.

Mr. Murphy just sat there, trying to understand all the nuances of his first official meeting with the superintendent.

"One other thing," Mildred added as she mentally checked off her to-do list for this meeting.

"What?" Jean-Luc knew that Mildred was wishing to make a point. She was one who did not enjoy seeing staff meetings drag on, even if she held the center of attention.

"Winnie left a message. He's the only one to discipline Cadet Sloane. She's to see him when he returns."

"I almost pity the cadet," Commander S'Rock observed.

Both Mildred and Jean-Luc raised their eyebrows in surprise at this statement. "I don't," Mildred remarked. That cadet had caused Mildred _trouble._ And Mildred never quite forgave those who caused her unnecessary _trouble_...

Mr. Murphy cleared his throat.

Jean-Luc Picard glanced over at his new office and cadet affairs manager. Mr. Michael Murphy was a tall man, about fifty, with short, fading blond hair. He had served as senior manager under Admiral Brand during her reign. So Admiral Picard had inherited him as a favor from Admiral Brand. Besides, Jean-Luc was happy to have him for he did not doubt that Mr. Murphy knew everything about the running of the Starfleet Academy. This Superintendent would need the man's expertise.

"Yes, Mr. Murphy?"

Mr. Murphy placed a padd in front of the admiral. "There were four inebriated cadets placed into custody after the party. Should I assume that they should receive the recommended standard discipline and detention?" He didn't know this new superintendent. He had yet to judge the measure of this man.

Admiral Picard picked up the padd, glanced over the list of names and shook his head. "The fact that these cadets were intoxicated is partially, in a roundabout manner, my responsibility." He placed down the padd. "Have their immediate commanding officers read each cadet the riot act. Then have the cadets spend three shifts doing scut work. Unless any of these cadets have prior drunk and disorderly arrests on their records..." He stared at Mr. Murphy. The man shook his head. "Good. ... then I will not place a permanent disciplinary mark on their official records. I also suggest that they all receive some counselling sessions. After a few hours with some Starfleet counselors, that in and of itself might be incentive enough to never wish get drunk again - at least in public." For a brief moment he wished that Deanna Troi was available. She was the kind of counselor that could drive any man away from drink with only a few sessions.

Mr. Murphy slightly smiled. He started to rise from his chair. Things were getting off to a good start with this new man. "Aye, Sir."

Admiral Picard reacted to this reply. "Mr. Murphy."

Mr. Murphy sat back down in his chair. "Yes, Admiral?"

"Unless you have joined Starfleet and I am unaware of it, you do not have to follow Starfleet military protocols for my benefit. Civilian protocols will do."

"Uh, yes, Sir." Mr. Murphy still looked a bit confused. He had heard that Jean-Luc Picard was known for his by-the-book attitude.

"Just don't do what Mrs. Krebs does, and you will do fine," Commander S'Rock suggested to Mr. Murphy as the Vulcan stood, nodded at the admiral, and went into the outer office. Mr. Murphy joined him and then went on his way.

"I think he'll do," Mildred observed nodding in the direction that Mr. Murphy had taken, as she walked around the desk and kissed Jean-Luc Picard's cheek. "Thank you for the apple brandywine. I'm looking forward to serving it to the Wiley bastard when he gets back from wherever he his hiding with Lwaxana." She glanced in the direction as to where Commander S'Rock had gone. _She'd get even with the Vulcan - soon. _

Something beeped. Mildred glanced down at her padd. "You've got an incoming call from Captain Riker, Admiral."

"I'll take it in my office," Admiral Picard ordered, as he waved Mrs. Krebs out of the room. He went out another door and into his private office making sure that he'd shut the door behind him.

A moment later, holding his third cup of hot tea this morning, Jean-Luc Picard again sat down behind his desk, turned on his viewscreen and greeted his former Number One. "Hello, Will..."

By way of response, Captain William Thomas Riker bestowed upon the admiral his best, _gotcha by the short hairs _smile and queried, "Jean-Luc, I didn't know that you could dance the mambo…"

The two eavesdropping aides to Admiral Picard stared at each other in dismay, in the Admiral's outer office. Mildred was the one who looked only a little bit guilty for a brief moment. Which was enough to convict her in the admiral's eyes when he found out. _And S'Rock would make sure that the admiral did find out for the Vulcan had a long-standing debt of payback with this human..._

"I suggest that you run," was all that Commander S'Rock advised.


	9. Chapter 9: Le Jour de l'An

_**A.N.: Well, this is the last chapter in this series for a little bit. I had not intended to write another novel, but based on the three "Life with Beverly" stories that I've written so far, that seems to be exactly what I am doing.**_

_**I really want to thank all those of you who write reviews. It is the kind of encouragement that all authors need. And I really appreciate hearing from you.**_

_**De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 9: Le Jour de l'An**_

_**(Happy New Year!)**_

She rolled over, snuggling against her husband's bare muscled, furry chest. It had been a while since she'd been like this with him with nothing to plan except where to kiss him next. Nothing more to orchestrate. Nothing that she really had to do except for luxuriating with him. Alone. She had not a care in the world at the moment. They were occupying a luxury suite at the Hotel Pont Royal in Paris where every possible decadent desire could be fulfilled. And so far, every one of their mutual cravings had been satisfied from an extraordinary supper supplied by room service, to a bottle of champagne with which not even her husband could find fault. And then there was the sensual aftermath of such a meal... It had been quite a while since she'd felt this satiated. _Relaxed…_

She nuzzled her husband's throat.

"Stop that, woman. Or, I'll have to do something in retaliation," he lazily threatened.

"That was my goal," she teased.

"_Mon Dieu!_ Who do you think I am? My younger brother? Jean-Luc?"

Marie lightly laughed. "I don't think your brother even comes close to having your stamina, Robert…" She nuzzled some more for she was noticing some desirable results from her touching. "After all, you've had years of practice." She lifted her head, smiled and then rested against his chest once more. "You know how to pace yourself." She lightly laughed against his throat. "Jean-Luc, after all, is only a mere beginner when it comes to being a proper husband."

Robert lifted Marie's chin, so that he could look at his beloved's gaze. "And have I been a _proper husband_ to you, my Marie?"

"You have been, and more," she sighed as she kissed her husband's lips. "I only wish that Beverly will be as fortunate and blessed as I am with her choice of spouse."

"I imagine that Jean-Luc might be having a somewhat similar conversation with his wife at some time during this night…"

But Robert would have been wrong. For soon after his arrival from the Academy, and then eating a light dinner from room service, both Jean-Luc and Beverly found themselves sound asleep in spite of their original intentions as to how to spend the night. After the events of the past few days, they really needed to sleep.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

She could tell that he was still upset and not just by the way he was pacing around, in spite of the fact that it had been almost a day since he'd beamed over from the Academy.

"Kate Pulaski of all people!" he mumbled repeatedly under his breath one more time, as he tried not to take out his displeasure on his wife. He went in search of the clothes that he would wear when he went off with Robert to do whatever it was that Robert intended to do this day.

Beverly was not helping. When she'd first found out that Kate had seen their mambo dance, not to mention almost everything else that had happened afterwards, her instantaneous response had been to cackle too.

Jean-Luc Picard was not amused.

"Jean-Luc. I hate to say this, but you do not have much of a choice when it comes to the matter of our Christmas party. Odds are that the vids are making the rounds - everywhere."

"No doubt aided by Will Riker," he harrumphed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, shoving aside the gold silk duvet as he reached for his wife. He pulled her close, reveling for a moment in the sweet scent of her flesh. For they had just shared a rather long shower this Parisian morning. And then Beverly had slid back into bed after their morning interlude, intending to take a short nap before meeting Marie for lunch. She was going on her shopping spree with the lady during the afternoon.

"Beverly…," he sighed, knowing that Beverly was in the right of it. "Am I really that pompous?"

"Sometimes," she admitted.

He sighed. "Well, you will just have to see to it that I do not turn into my father - or Robert."

She chuckled as she nodded into his chest. "I will do my best, _Sir,_" she drawled. That earned her a swift retaliatory kiss from her husband.

Jean-Luc found himself not quite willingly relinquishing the last of his illusions that he was in control especially when it came to their party. "I suppose that I'll have to don my stoic mask and pretend that such things actually do happen - even to me. I'll just have to make the best of it."

"_Admirably_, you always do." She lightly kissed him and then patted his chest ignoring the way he momentarily glared at her over her pun. "If the teasing becomes too onerous, just throw in a mention of Q. Perhaps you might even suggest that there is more than one Q in the Continuum in search of additional humans to bedevil. I'm sure that _our _Q would be willing to oblige you with potential Continuum nemesis candidates, if say, Woody starts behaving mercilessly. I'm sure that _our_ Q would do just about anything to get you back in his debt again, so he will oblige you."

"Our Q…" He considered his imp. "_…always_ considers me in his debt." He paused for a moment thinking about the events of the past few days. "However, Q protests that _this _time, the debacle was not his fault."

"Darling, not even you quite believe that statement. And neither do I."

He laughed, immediately quite pleased with the fact that he was someone's '_darling_' once again. "True." He pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Now, I just have to deduce who sent the video to Captain Pulaski."

"I think that you have quite a long list of suspects, Jean-Luc." Beverly chuckled. "The diplomatic security blackout did not prevent someone - say a cadet with a tricorder - from making a vid that was sub-spaced the moment he left our house…" She leaned backwards to rest against a mountain of pillows. He was momentarily distracted as he was entranced by the sight of her auburn hair splaying about her naked shoulders. And what those silken tresses covered and did not cover…

"While that is correct, the fact that the vid was sent specifically to Kate Pulaski tells me that there are two possible culprits - Mildred or Guinan."

Beverly reached up and pulled her husband into her arms so that he rested on her bosom. "You can plot your revenge when we get back. They both probably plotted together." She kissed him with passion. "There is another matter of far more importance at the moment…"

Jean-Luc gently kissed his wife even as he silently agreed with her. And then he made love to her again this morning, as it was clearly her wish that he do so.

Two hours later he joined Robert as the brothers Picard visited most of the major wine shops and hotels that featured their wines and brandies. For Robert had decided that it was time that Jean-Luc's reputation as the savior of Earth be put to a practical use. Jean-Luc glad handed quite a few of their distributors and major clients this day.

And somehow, he managed to do it without getting too drunk since at every visit, someone offered them a glass of wine…

Fortunately, Robert had brought along several detox hyposprays. Drinking too much alcohol was part of the continuing hazards of doing business as a vintner and wine merchant.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Their dinner at _Le Meurice _had been fabulous. The restaurant had been grander than what Beverly had been expecting even though she had attended many a 'grand' dinner as the captain's usual escort at embassies or Federation ballrooms when they were on board the _Enterprise_. But after looking about the ivory, silver and gold brocade and cut crystal and gilt wood dining rooms decorated with many original Louis XV style antiques, she half-expected to find the president of the Federation and the Federation counsel to be dining with them as well.

Beverly couldn't decide if the somewhat overwhelming service that they were receiving was based on the fact that a galactically famous vintner was present - or that he was accompanied by two Starfleet admirals. For the _maître d' _had recognized both brothers almost simultaneously. Not to mention the fact that the man must have brushed up on the 'who's who' of the admiralty, because he had greeted Admiral Beverly Picard by name too.

The food and the wine selections had been ordered _au choix du chef. _Each course had been left up to the decision of the _Chef de cuisine. _And they were not disappointed with the chef's choices for them.

_Pate de foie gras, __Boeuf Bourguignon_, _Marseille bouillabaisse with turbot, mussels, hake, and langoustines _and _soufflé Grand Marnier…_

Beverly's eyes widened in surprise. Even as the third course was being served, Marie began to have an inkling of what the _Chef de cuisine_ was doing.

"I gather that the world of top chefs is a very small universe indeed," Beverly observed as she tasted her soup.

"It would appear so," Marie agreed as she herself was somewhat surprised as well as pleased by this chef's very grand gesture.

Jean-Luc and Robert were somewhat clueless about what their wives were discussing.

Beverly sweetly smiled at her husband. "Enjoy, Jean-Luc. You are finally getting a chance to actually taste our wedding dinner." For Jean-Luc had not actually eaten anything during their wedding banquet for though he had not quite been willing to admit it to Beverly, he had been nervous. Bread, champagne and water were the only three things that he'd consumed during their wedding feast. Though that night, it was another matter entirely, for he had been ravenous. And eventually he even ate a supper later with his bride…

"What?" Jean-Luc and Robert said simultaneously.

Marie explained. "It appears that this chef has been in contact with Ludvig or someone who was on board the _Enterprise_, for he is duplicating the menu of your wedding banquet, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed. He had never demanded or expected such flattering treatment in his life. Little did he know that there would always be those that thought that such conduct was the price of doing business with an admiral.

After dining, and as the after-dinner brandies arrived along with Beverly's herbal tea, the two married couples sighed in satisfaction over their dinner, and the day's events.

Jean-Luc grasped Beverly's hand and then bent over slightly, in order to kiss her hand and her wedding ring. Then he suggested to his bride, "I thought that we should stay over through New Year's Eve."

"No," Robert firmly stated.

"Robert!" Marie chided.

"You know our tradition." On Beverly's questioning look, Robert explained, "We always have a small, intimate dinner with our friends on New Year's Eve."

Marie interrupted Robert. "What Robert really means to say is that the local vintners all get together to brag about their wines - and see what their competition has accomplished during the past year."

"Ah, yes…," Jean-Luc sighed, remembering. "_Réveillon de Saint-Sylvestre_ - the feast of Saint Sylvester. It's how we French celebrate New Year's. In LaBarre, that means that the best champagnes and food are on display for all to criticize. I recall our Papa engaging in fisticuffs when some rival vintner thought his premiere champagne that year had too much sugar…"

"The man was jealous," Robert explained.

Beverly could only nod. Then she turned to Marie, worried that their Parisian interlude might be interfering with what Marie had to do. "Does this mean that you have to prepare a dinner?"

Marie laughed, shaking her head. "No, thank heavens. It's not our turn to host the New Year's Eve party this year. When we attend, all that we will have to provide are the bottles to be tasted." She reached over and squeezed Jean-Luc's hand. "I've already asked if you and Beverly could attend this year. Naturally, Louis said 'yes'."

"If Beverly is up to it…," Jean-Luc warned.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly warned, "not only will I be _up to it_, I think that tomorrow Marie and I must go hunting for something to wear to the party."

Both husbands simultaneously groaned. For both husbands had other ideas of how to spend the afternoon with their wives, and it wasn't to take their wives shopping.

"You can't do too much shopping," Jean-Luc warned his bride. "We're going to the _Ballet de l'Opéra de Paris _in the evening. You must rest."

Beverly momentarily ignored her husband's mother hen tendencies. Beverly was suddenly excited at the thought of seeing the Parisian Ballet. "Not Gluck's _'Orpheus and Eurydice'? _I had heard that they were performing it this season. I've never seen it performed live before…"

"Yes, that is the ballet that Jean-Luc thought that you would like," Robert added.

"Beverly trained as a dancer," Jean-Luc thought to mention.

"Do tell," Marie dryly responded. "I do believe that you mentioned it once - _or was it a few hundred times? _- in your sub-space messages to us." She turned and smiled at Beverly. "More than twenty years ago, Jean-Luc was boasting to Robert about what a wonderful dancer you were."

Jean-Luc shrugged his shoulders. "I had to tell them something about you to convince them that you were not imaginary, or else Robert would have tried to play matchmaker for me with every unmarried vintner's daughter of his acquaintance."

Robert observed, "Well, Little Brother, it seems that you did just fine on your own, in picking a bride. You didn't need any help from me…"

"Merci, Robert." Beverly looked over at her husband and picked up his hand to place a kiss against his wedding ring. "Thank you for thinking that of me." She spoke to Robert, but her eyes were on her husband.

Robert chuckled. "There may be something that Jean-Luc forgot to mention to you about how the French celebrate New Year's Eve."

"And that is?"

"We French celebrate with kissing under the mistletoe on New Year's Eve - not at Christmas," Robert pleasantly informed his sister-in-law.

Beverly and Jean-Luc simultaneously grinned as each remembered exactly how the Orions celebrated with mistletoe. There are some images that they would never forget from their party. "Now I am really looking forward to the party," Beverly replied.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"I won't tell if you won't tell," Rene announced.

"I don't think that you can keep this big of a secret," Wesley replied, even as he grinned down at his new, young cousin. "We will have to tell them, eventually."

"You are right," Rene regretfully agreed. He knew that his mother could worm any secret out of him with ease, if she chose to do so.

"On the other hand, your mother did say that I should do _educational_ things with you. And travel is certainly an educational experience…"

"And Mama did give you permission to let me to do such things…"

"Let's go then," Wesley decided.

Rene whooped with joy.

After making sure that Rene was wearing warm enough clothes, for Wesley did not want his own mother to get after him if Rene caught a chill, they walked through the snow to the transporter station in the village, and beamed over to Wesley's dormitory at the Academy. Wesley then gave Rene the grand tour of the Academy. It was the best day of Rene's life - after being allowed to pilot a shuttlecraft on his way to his uncle's wedding on board the _Enterprise, _that is_._ And Wesley quickly became entrenched as Rene's all-time, number one cousin.

Wesley quickly discovered that he liked having a younger cousin. After so many years where the only family that he'd had was a distant grandmother and his mother, it was nice to actually be able to be able to add an aunt, uncle and a cousin to his list of family. Wesley was no longer so alone.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"Conservative or daring?" Beverly asked of Marie as they wandered through yet another _haute couture _boutique. Jean-Luc and Robert were seated at a nearby bistro waiting for their wives to return. Both men were guarding numerous packages even as they sampled more of their competitor's wine.

"What's appropriate for your St. Sylvester celebration?"

"I would suggest a bit more conservative than that," Marie advised. "Though your husband might appreciate it."

Beverly held up a black dress that seemed to be nothing more than half-inch strips of flexible black metal loosely chain linked together. "Jean-Luc might appreciate 'shocking' in private…" She mightily sighed. "… but that is not his preference for when we are in public - unless we're on Risa."

"I really must take Robert to Risa one of these years. Those few not-too-scandalous stories that you could tell me about your honeymoon…"

"Yes," Beverly sighed, remembering. "Though I should warn you. It took almost six weeks of a honeymoon prior to Risa to really get Jean-Luc to loosen up enough to enjoy himself."

"If only I could convince Robert to take the time off…"

Both ladies wandered some more.

And then Beverly saw it. It was a deep sapphire blue. It was perfect for her. The Empire style silk sheath form bodice was covered with elaborate hand sewn crystal embroidery. It was sleeveless. The full skirt was made of velvet. And it had a matching velvet shawl with hand-sewn crystals too. In short, the dress was perfect. Sexy yet elegant. The moment Beverly tried it on, she knew that it was the one. In her mind, she justified the very high cost of the gown by thinking of the upcoming Admiralty functions that she would be attending. The voluminous skirt would accommodate her pregnancy for a few more months. Besides, her Christmas present from Jean-Luc would go well with this dress. Beverly had yet to realize what Marie already knew - diamonds go well with just about everything if you own them.

Marie discovered a dress as well. It was a sheath form gold silk with a Gainsborough collar and long flowing sleeves. Beverly did not doubt that Robert would like it very, very much.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Mr. Murphy glanced over the totals, and the names, and the embassies that were on his list. Instead of certain personages demanding apologies for what had happened at the Christmas party, his padd contained a list of all the people who insisted that they wanted to be invited to the next party - as well as the next Christmas Day party. The number of people who wanted to attend the next party far exceeded those who were upset by what had happened.

Mr. Murphy grinned, even as he glanced out of his office window, which overlooked the main quad at the Academy. Working for Admiral Jean-Luc Picard was going to be rather interesting.

He then ate his lunch, which consisted of some excellent spinach lasagna, and a ramekin of the best crème brulee that he'd ever tasted, thanks to the generosity of Admiral Picard and his chef, Ludvig.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

They had dinner at _Le Bistrot Lorette _after the ballet_. _Beverly just could not stop talking. She had been enraptured by the performance, their dinner in an intimate little bistro, and the fact that her husband still found it necessary to hold her hand whenever he could. In short, it had been a perfect day. For everyone.

And thanks to Jean-Luc, her night was even better.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

"My daughter ain't going to like this," Winston Holt Wiley observed.

Lwaxana lifted up her head to stare into the eyes of her naked lover. "Children never do. They don't like the idea that their parents can have a sex life of their own too. I've had to live with that attitude for years." She shifted a little so that she could rest her head against her lover's shoulder. "Just how many children do you have?"

"Two sons and a daughter - that are living." He tangled his fingers through Lwaxana's flowing hair, brushing aside a few dark strands. He softly added, "I lost my eldest daughter at Wolf 359. Olivia was the science office on board the _Saratoga…_"

"I know, dear, I know." She sighed in sympathy, lovingly caressing Winston's cheek as she wiped away a tear. "Deanna's my only living child. Though I lost a daughter a long time ago too…" She raised her head a little, determined not to become maudlin, or to let Winston succumb as well. "Any grandchildren?" she brightly asked.

"No. My kids are taking their own good time about giving me grandchildren."

"Well, we'll have to do something about that. When I wish to be, I can be a very good matchmaker."

Winston wisely refrained from pointing out her failure in getting Deanna to the altar.

Lwaxana thunked his shoulder anyway, for she could read his mind.

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

Beverly glanced about the great room at Louis' house and decided that she might be the only truly sober soul standing. She had tasted a few sips of the various champagnes throughout the formal dinner. But for the most part, during this interesting, entertaining yet tiring night, she'd spent the evening drinking tea or sparkling water.

She watched her husband from afar.

Jean-Luc, at the moment, was telling a rather elaborate tale to a group of old friends, about a school trip to Cannes where Louis had fallen into the ocean. Beverly thought that about half of what she could overhear her husband describing might possibly be true. For she had discovered that with the right incentive, which usually consisted of two or more drinks, her husband could be a weaver of very tall tales in the right company. Beverly decided that this ability of her husband to tell tall tales boded well for their twins' bedtimes in the near future.

Deciding that her feet really did need a rest even if she was wearing flat slippers, she filled a plate with more fruit, cheese and _petit fours_, picked up another goblet with sparkling water, and found herself a comfortable burgundy upholstered bergere near the fireplace, where she could tuck up her feet and rest.

Marie joined her a few minutes later, pulling a side chair over to where Beverly was resting.

"One doesn't have to be a Betazed to know that Jean-Luc liked your dress," Marie observed for she had noticed how often Jean-Luc's gaze returned to his wife.

"That same can be said about Robert," Beverly agreed. For she had noticed Robert looking for his wife several times during the evening. She offered Marie some of her _petit fours_. Marie gladly ate a few.

"I've enjoyed this," Marie stated meaning more than just the dinner.

"Yes. I have too." Beverly smiled. "I find myself glad that you're my sister-in-law." She chuckled. "Much as I loved my late husband Jack, I was not overly fond of my in-laws. They did not approve of a daughter-in-law who was a doctor. Though they did mellow a bit, after Wesley came along…But after Jack died, I had to resort to legal measures to keep Wesley with me…"

"I know what you mean, though mine may not have been as difficult as yours. Robert's father and I did not always see eye-to-eye. With my father-in-law, the vines _always_ came first. I did not agree."

"I can appreciate your point of view. It took me a long time to accept that Jean-Luc would always be a starship captain first, and then a man, second."

"Yet Jean-Luc changed."

"Indeed he did." Beverly's smile held a glint of mischief. "The only reason as to why I got Jean-Luc to modify his priorities was because of his _first_ wife, Eline…"

Marie choked on her champagne. "His _what_?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. But thanks to that lady, Jean-Luc started to alter his priorities. Eventually I managed to change his point of view. And we became lovers. And then we married."

"Thank heavens for that." Marie leaned over and lightly touched Beverly's waistline. "And now, I look forward to becoming an aunt."

Beverly divinely smiled at this thought.

Beverly looked about and located Wesley who was earnestly engaged in conversation with Louis' youngest daughter by a terrace door. He seemed to be having a good time, as she watched him laugh at something that the girl had said.

Marie noticed the direction of Beverly's gaze. "Eloise is a good girl. Bright and talented too. She's studying to be a marine exobiologist, and is working with her father on the Atlantis project. I don't know if she would be _right_ for Wesley. But I don't think that she'd be too _wrong_ either.

"Don't start your matchmaking just yet. I'm too young to be a grandmother."

"My nephew is a handsome lad. And he has a very good heart. Some lucky young lady is going to notice this, fairly soon, I think. You may only have a few years to wait before you do become a grandmother."

Beverly appreciated Marie's opinion of her son even as she comically shuddered at the thought of grandchildren. "Wesley thinks that you walk on water, Marie. And that you're the best cook he's ever met."

"I shall endeavor not to disillusion him." Then Marie laughed. After a moment she glanced over at the 18th century kingswood mantel clock and announced, "We're coming up on midnight. We'd best go find our husbands lest they find someone else to kiss at midnight."

"Fat chance we'll let that happen," Beverly stated as she finished off her fruit, put the plate and glass down, and then went in search of some real champagne for toasting in the New Year.

A few minutes later, Jean-Luc held Beverly in his arms as they stepped outside onto a flagstone terrace to gaze at the stars, as they listened to the countdown toward year's end.

"What a year this has been," Beverly sighed even as her husband found the right spot to kiss on her neck. Neither had bothered with the champagne. Their kisses were intoxicating enough tonight. And they really didn't need any mistletoe to encourage kissing.

He lifted his head and pulled his bride closer into his arms. "Indeed, it has been a remarkable, eventful year." He pressed his hand against Beverly's waistline. "And the new year will be even better." He warmly kissed her, then whispered, "Thank you, _mon coeur_. You have given me everything…"

She patted her stomach. "You were pretty good at the gift giving too…"

They listened as the final seconds were counted down. And then simultaneously they whispered to each other as midnight struck, "I love you…"

It was at this moment that Jean-Luc decided that kissing Beverly was the very best way to celebrate any New Year. He silently prayed that he would be carrying on with this new tradition, for the rest of his life.

Beverly just knew that this was where the fates meant her to be - in her husband's arms...

**=/\= ='/\'= =/\=**

They returned home three days before the staff was due back. Jean-Luc had wanted a few days to himself to prepare for the next term. And Beverly needed to rest. For in spite of her protestations, he sensed how tired she was. He was going to wait on her hand and foot over the next few days.

The first thing that he'd done after they'd disembarked from their shuttlecraft was to put his lady wife to bed. The fact that she did not protest too much, only confirmed what he was sensing. Beverly was exhausted in spite of her prorestations.

And since Jean-Luc shared what Beverly felt, he ended up sleeping next to her as well.

The next morning, Jean-Luc went into their private dining room and replicated a suitable meal for Beverly's breakfast that he would serve to her in bed. He rather liked the idea of Beverly eating breakfast in bed. It conjured up some very pleasant, recent memories.

Placing the stasis covered tray into an old fashioned dumb waiter, Jean-Luc ordered an extra mug of Earl Grey for himself and left the room.

What he didn't expect as he stepped into the hallway, was the sight of the Fleet Admiral chasing after the senior Betazed Ambassador down the hallway. Neither one was wearing very much, to phrase it mildly.

Jean-Luc knew that he should be angry with them, but Beverly was foremost in his thoughts. Besides, other than Beverly, his chief question at the moment was as to _why_ - other than the obvious - was a semi-naked Winston Holt Wiley and Lwaxana Troi running around in his corridor. _In his house. _

_Why the devil, weren't they cavorting about at Winston's house? Why the devil did it have to be his house?_

"Jean-Luc!" Lwaxana stopped short of bumping into him. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you, _Madam Ambassador. _I live here, in case you have forgotten."

"Oh, Jean-Luc. Are you jealous?" She coyly glanced back looking for Winston.

Before Jean-Luc Picard could protest this outlandish statement, Winston Holt Wiley came up behind the lady and picked her up in his arms.

Jean-Luc was somewhat surprised that Holt was capable of doing so.

"She's made a new man of me," Winston announced.

Jean-Luc did not quite know what to make of this statement.

Lwaxana waggled her left hand in front of Jean-Luc's nose. Considering all the rings that Lwaxana usually wore, Jean-Luc was not quite sure of the importance of this gesture.

Frustrated at Admiral Picard's failure to grasp the significance of her action, Lwaxana's voice rose an octave as she grandly informed Jean-Luc Picard with a booming voice loud enough to be heard by Beverly who was up one floor, as well as by the gardeners working outside, "_We were married in New Las Vegas!"_

"_And since you're both friend to me and my wife, you can throw us our wedding celebration_!" Winston cheerfully added, "You've got the house for it, that's for sure."

Jean-Luc Picard dropped his mug.

_**The End**_

_**(For now)**_


End file.
